The Cure
by paintedkisses64
Summary: One Jester's search for escape could lead to a scarecrow's redemption, and a legend's cure of a fear that both drives him and holds him back.
1. Becoming A Legend

Disclaimer: I only own Elizabeth and the kid.

Chapter One- "Becoming the Legend"

Batman flipped the card through his fingers, smearing the blood across the waxy surface of the joker's grinning face. He leaned back further in his desk chair and removed his mask. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose in between the corners of his eyes as he stifled a yawn. It had been the third time the Joker offed someone, and still he hadn't cornered him. The murders were done too sporadically; there was no rhyme or reason, at least none that he could perceive.

"But no one kills without purpose."

"More coffee, Master Bruce?" Alfred bowed slightly with the tray held before him like a sacrificial offering.

"Yeah, that sounds great, Alfred, thanks."

Alfred leaned the kettle over Bruce's empty mug, letting the steamy liquid run gently down the inside of the cup to pool in the center. "Interesting thing, the television," Alfred began as he topped off the cup and set the kettle back down on the tray, "You know, just tonight they were reporting on your Joker case. It seems every victim had been a student in medical fields, at one point or another."

Bruce looked up in surprise at Alfred, though his wise and well-timed words were frequent enough to cease amazement by him. Alfred gave him a trusting smile and disappeared into the hallway. "Do try not to let that blood get on anything," he called over his shoulder.

So there was a pattern. Bruce mused over this fresh outlook as he carefully sipped at his coffee. Alfred had left it black, which was how he liked- well, just about everything. He flipped the TV on, but the report was over, and they had moved on. But the point had been made, and taken to heart. The police had made the connection, and Batman would likely have the least amount of trouble getting details from Gordon. He replaced his mask once more, and slipped out of the mansion into cold, dark Gotham.

Somewhere in the back of his mind it bothered him that the police knew more about this case than he did. He was supposed to be a legend, a symbol for the evil in this city, not just some pawn of force. He couldn't keep taking directions to the final showdown; he had to make his own map.

Then again, no one man was an army. Every person's different perspective could fit another piece in the puzzle. But as Batman, Bruce would have to use his resources to act faster.

Batman landed on Gordon's porch with a whisper of fabric. It was two o' clock on a bleak Sunday morning, and everyone would be asleep. Batman picked up a stone and ricocheted it off the fence where Gordon's dog lay sleeping as well. Betty's head snapped up, and she began barking viciously when she smelled the stranger. If they kept meeting up like this, old Betty would become savvy to his games, but for the moment the purpose was performed. He'd figure out new details when the moment arose. He could hear the movements inside the house, someone grumbling about the stupid mutt. He made a show of his cape passing over the window, and he knew one of the occupant's saw. There were footsteps now, and he didn't have to wait long before Gordon barreled out through the front door.

"Taking the night off, Lieutenant?"

"I'm far too tired for witty repartee, Batman."

"I'll keep it short, then."

"This is about Joker."

"Why would he be interested in killing people who studied medicine in the past?"

"More specifically, he's been targeting psychiatric students." Gordon sighed and leaned on the banister, "You're a powerful being, Batman, but you still have a lot to learn about being a detective. While his victim's were dying from laughter due to a chemical imbalance, their houses were searched. That's why the crime scene always looks like a hurricane hit it. It wasn't that they put up a fight, that man was searching for something."

"What do you suppose he's searching for?"

"No idea. But I'd like to know who this guy is. Get a visual, get his background information, and you solve a lot. It's clear though that he's hiding out. Hitting people with only history of that field of study instead of hitting professionals really slowed us down. Like he wasn't ready to show his face. But it looks as though he's not getting what he wants. Which is why-," Gordon turned to face Batman, but ended up responding to a vacant porch, "We've got to keep our eyes on the big fish now," he finished, shaking his head and returning to bed. "His exits might just get irritating after awhile. If we end up working together that long."

Batman smiled as he listened to Gordon's grumbling retreat from the top of the roof. He always did seem to have a knack for getting on people's testy sides. But keep them distanced, and you won't fall when they do. Batman stood up, and stretched his vision across the gothic landscape. Lights like Christmas bulbs flickered and flared, blazing to life, or being quickly snuffed out. Like the anxious occupants of the streets, who scurried along as they tried to glance over their shoulder without looking paranoid. Soon, he hoped, there would be no need of that paranoia, or the acute fear that panged the soul when an individual hopped on a bus occupied by someone that eyed them with far too much interest, or when someone knocked into them on an empty sidewalk with a flash of something metallic at their side. The question was no longer, "could they be saved?" Now it was, "how long until hope could be rebuilt in the mind?" Despite Gordon's best efforts, too many people still saw Batman as a new threat. Dr. Jonathan Crane's 911 call about him a month ago had made an already rocky situation a downright landslide. The fact that he had slipped out the back certainly hadn't helped him.

But just as Alfred never gave up hope on Bruce, now he could not give up hope on his efforts. Given time, he would accomplish what he had set out to do. There would be no exceptions. He pulled out a cell phone, flipped it open, and pushed redial. He heard the click of a receiver and didn't wait for a greeting, "Alfred, I need you to give me a list of names of the top psychiatrists taking residence in Gotham."

"Right away, sir. Ah, what show tunes would you like to listen to while you wait?" When he was answered by silence, Alfred shook his head and replaced the receiver. "I'll call you, then."

After taking note of the two names Alfred came up with, Batman leapt off the roof, flicking his cape out to cup the air and propel him on the currents of a reluctant breeze. Middle and upper class families were becoming scarce in Gotham, and while there were plenty of patients for any type of doctor, there weren't many who wanted to take that chance. His own family's misfortune took partial responsibility for the drop in residence. The very people they helped turned against them, who next? Such whispers were also what helped drive him away. Maybe sometime during the day Bruce could think about visiting these doctors on more businesslike terms. Maybe not- it wouldn't look good in the tabloids. Though while things getting more out of hand than his birthday tantrum were diminutive, if he didn't start cleaning up his act his business colleagues would stop taking him seriously. In that case, though, seeing a shrink might help his image. He could see the headlines now, "The Batman Stifles the Joker's Laugh", and then on page eight (or maybe even five this time), "Gotham's Brat Cleans Up His Act".

But, top priorities must be acted upon first and foremost.

Batman had arrived at the list's first address. Dr. Elizabeth Lee, who lived in an apartment a fair walking distance from Wayne Enterprise. Batman could see a soft blue light emanating from around a door frame across the room where he had slipped in through the window. It was the nicer part of the city, but the security still left much to be desired. He glided across the plush carpet and shot a quick glance into the other room. A woman in her late twenties sat in front of a patient computer, resting her head on folded arms, her steady breathing revealing slumber. He slipped into the room, standing behind her as he pressed the power button on the PC. The sudden lack of light startled her awake, and he gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and gave a tiny squeak of alarm.

"You have no need to fear me. I'm here to warn you about a serial killer targeting psychiatrists. He's being searching for something, but I don't know what it is. If he comes to you, I want you to tell him what he wants to know, and I want you to know I'll be close by if you need me." He stepped back, and she turned around to look at him. It seemed like several minutes before she could finally form a word.

"You setting me up for bait, Batman?"

"He'd be after you whether or not I came. And I would be after him whether or not I was watching your back. I need to know what he wants, so just do whatever he asks. I won't let him kill you."

"Well… thanks."

Batman shook his head, "Not yet."

Elizabeth nodded her head. A soft voice from another room interrupted them, and she departed to comfort the child. When she returned to her office, the only movement was the stack of papers whispering softly from the wind caressing them from the open window.

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	2. Facing The Day

Chapter Two: Facing The Day

The day was going horribly. How was Elizabeth supposed to get anything done when she spent half the time jumping at every shadow and was constantly glancing over her shoulder? That was no way to live. Of course, recklessness was no way to die, either.

These recent events were tearing her mind up, though. She couldn't decide whether she was grateful to have been warned or would have been happier not knowing. Each decision had its pros and cons. Eventually she would content herself with the flow of fate, but currently she had to block all concerns from her mind—if that were possible.

Across from her sat couple that were possibly as bad for each other as they were good for each other. One was masochist and the other was sadistic. Perfect. Their words flowed into her mind at tangents, tangling themselves around words spoken to her from another night, and words she hoped she would never have to hear.

"Doctor?"

Dr. Lee inwardly shook herself into present matters and smiled. "Yes, Mr. Conning?"

"You okay? Do we need to reschedule?"

"No, no," Dr. Lee argued, shaking her head. "I was merely… assessing the situation."

"And?" Came from Mrs. Conning.

"Ah," Dr. Lee was no marriage counselor, but recent underdevelopments in Gotham's population forced Dr. Lee to make some developments of her own. Oh well, at least she couldn't say she was suffering financially. "Mr. and Mrs. Conning, can you imagine yourselves living without each other?"

"Wha--?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" demanded Mr. Conning.

"An informative one, I assure you; but nothing that should be answered in this session. I want you to think about it,really think about it. I will see you both next week."

"But Doctor, we still have fifteen minutes." Cried Mrs. Conning.

"And I want you spending that fifteen extra minutes doing some compromising, something you haven't really been doing for each other. Do that for me before your lives sweep both of you off your feet again." As she spoke she stood and opened the office door for them to leave by.

She was completely ashamed of herself for doing that, but couldn't help but feel that that had been her best option. They deserved to have a patient doctor, instead of a brick wall to converse with, though many doctors somehow could not make the separation. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she walked to the office's only window, staring down at dingy streets against the sharp sunlight of noon with hazel eyes. Talk about contrasts. Often staring into the face of hope in a downward spiral, she wondered at all the chances she never took, or the flights she had never flown. Who stays in Gotham City? It is only those who are tired of running, or find themselves at home. Criminals, however, are not the only ones who find themselves at home in Gotham. Elizabeth found, with a slight shudder of apprehension, that she stayed because she wanted to. It was too difficult adjusting to an entirely strange city when she had been born and raised in another one. That was why she wasn't running from her problems. That and… something told her to stay. Some inexplicable urge to help Batman nail Joker wrenched at her gut, and cemented her soul even more to her home city. Not to mention that tiny mantra that she repeated to all her patients was now finally coming around to her: "you can't run from your problems. Only by facing them will you defeat them." Standard issue, psychology 101; so under- and overused. But clichés will forever be in use as long as they're true and in need of use. So there she stood, twirling her proverbial ball and chain, and victimizing herself to her own schooling.

Elizabeth watched a squadron of police cars parade through a street a few blocks down. Someday, she considered, she wouldn't have to give running away a second thought, so long as there were sunny days and dark knights.

* * *

Alfred scurried around Bruce like a frantic mother, pulling out a crease here, adjusting a tie there, and informing him about his latest import of cool gadgetry.

"The watch you're wearing, Master Bruce, picks up on the homing device by heart rate. Quite like those exercise bicycles that measure how fast your blood is flowing."

"Exercise bikes?"

"Do stand still sir, I don't know how you can live with yourself, going swimming in perfectly good suits one night and sliding down hotel banisters the next. Little hooligan," he chuckled good naturedly, "Anyways, this attribute allows you to observe if the one being stalked is in danger or not."

"I'm not stalking. How does this tie look?"

"Mismatched as always. If the device shows a flatline, then--,"

"The person's dead. Got it."

"Or she simply took off her coat. Really Master Bruce, must you where those shoes?"

"I should have been here when Lucius dropped that thing off; he explains those things a lot better."

"I understand. I was the one that clued him in to use small words when conversing with you."

Bruce laughed and exited his bedroom, making his way briskly down the grand staircase and into the central hall with Alfred in tow like a faithful shadow.

"Who am I meeting tonight again?"

"You are joking, right?" Alfred looked up at his godson with a worried frown.

"Come on Alfred, you know this whole business bachelor is just a disguise from my real job, right?"

"But Master Bruce, I thought you were considering this whole personality trait. For Rachel, I mean."

Bruce stopped at the door, checking his watch before remembering that time wasn't one of its splendid attributes. "I have been considering, Alfred. But I find it hard to consider myself top priority to everyone else who needs my darker side."

"Even if it means losing the one you love?"

Bruce gave Alfred a long, solemn look. "I'm willing to make a sacrifice, so no one else has to."

Alfred smiled, his eyes shining proudly, but with a hint of sadness as well. "Give them hell, Bruce." One boyish smirk later, Gotham's Playboy was out the door.

"Oh and by the way," Alfred yelled out the open door to the retreating form. "It's Mr. and Mrs. O' Henri. Try to be polite!" He was answered by a wave of hand without so much as a backward glance. He shook his head and muttered, "He'll grow into himself… I'm sure of it…"

* * *

FIVE HOURS LATER

Something was wrong, Elizabeth's bones sang. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she quickened her pace to her vehicle. She unlocked the door and slid in without harm or harassment, but could not shake the itchy feeling between her shoulder blades that she got when she was being watched. Or when she thought she was being watched. She turned the ignition and quickly wedged herself into the flow of traffic, letting habit take over her direction as she studied the passing suspects of her increased paranoia.

It didn't take her long to get to the stinted elementary school, where she got out of her white two door and waited anxiously for a small pair of feet to scuffle over and greet her.

"Hey, Katie. How was school?"

"It would have been better, but I think I'm a little sick. Ms. Welling said I picked up a bug from Mickey, probably."

Elizabeth silently cursed. She had planned on taking Katie out for ice cream, or doing something that kept them in a crowd of people. Secretly she had planned on doing everything short of camping outside the police station. "We better get you home so you can lay down then." She told her, sweeping her fingers through the girls blond curls.

"I have to tell you something Ms. Welling said."

"Okay, tell me in the car. The wind's getting a little cooler and I don't want you to feel worse." She lied. Ms. Welling was Katie's third grade teacher, and absolute hero. How a third grade teacher could possibly manage to be a child's hero while at the same time dishing out homework was beyond her, but she didn't press the matter. In the car Katie started chatting while tugging the seatbelt across her lap. Normally her niece was fairly quiet, so apparently a bug wasn't the only thing she got in her system.

"She said if I kept up the grades, I could go to Milton after I complete the fifth grade."

"I'm proud of you for doing so well." She murmured absentmindedly as she continually exchanged glances with her rear view mirror. Was that car following her? It was still on her tail after four turns.

"That's the school Mister Bruce Wayne went to. I want to be famous like him too. Can I go there?"

"You can do anything you apply yourself to."

"Aunt Lizzy, are you okay? Did you pick up a bug too?"

Elizabeth let out a relieved breath as the car behind her turned onto another street. Paranoia at its best. "I might have. Maybe we should both lay down when we get home."

"I think you just passed it."

"That's okay, we're taking the long way around today."

"… Okay."

Elizabeth locked and bolted the door behind her, before racing around to make sure all other forms of entrance were safely shut and locked as well. Nothing came in while she was gone. Hopefully it would stay that way while she was there.

Katie giggled as she dumped her books on the kitchen table. Elizabeth smiled sheepishly at her. "I am acting a little crazy, aren't I?"

Katie looked up at her as if she hadn't noticed her standing there. "No, I just have the giggles." As if to prove it, she giggled again. "I think it's the bug," she laughed.

Elizabeth's heart stopped, and suddenly the room swayed as the shock hit her like she had stepped out of an air-conditioned room into a hot, sticky summer. It wasn't just any bug that Katie picked up from school, and she probably hadn't picked it up from school at all. The room was suddenly so much hotter, and Elizabeth dumped her jacket into the nearest chair as she made her way into the study, where she kept the gun locked in a drawer hidden under a nest of papers. Something told her she'd need it tonight.


	3. Terror In The Night

The Cure

Chapter Three: Terror in the Night

Elizabeth froze at the sound of shattering glass from the other room, her hand hovering over the gun. Panic swept through her, and she had suddenly forgotten why she was there or what she was doing. Where was Katie? The thought seemed to bring her back to herself, little by little, and she remembered the gun lying at the tips of her fingers. She snatched it up and, making sure the safety was on, tucked it into the back of her pants. As she made her way back into the kitchen where Katie had been, she pulled her shirt up and over the butt of the gun so it was concealed. It would be testy to get to quickly, but she didn't have any holsters, just the gun. Until now she had figured she would never need it.

Katie wasn't in the kitchen. Elizabeth's breath hitched, her heart thrumming in her throat. She put a hand on the butt of the gun, just there, not gripping it or fingering the trigger. It was acting like a safety blanket now, feeding her courage through the cold touch of metal. There was still a chance she might not need it. She just had to keep reminding herself that she would tell him whatever he wanted to know. She heard a laugh from the living room, and furrowed her brow. She had to pass into the living room to get to the kitchen, and nothing had been in there before. She returned to the room and stopped in the doorway, her hand shaking so bad she had to let go of the gun. Sitting on the couch with Katie folded in his arms was unmistakably the Joker. He looked like a nightmare right out of the circus of the damned, his face an unnatural alabaster with a red smear of lips in a perpetual nerve-twisting jeer. The suit her wore was a gaudy shade of purple that strangely enough complimented him. The green undershirt that poked out from the cuffs of his jacket brought out the highlights in his hair.

"Why hello doctor, have a seat. We were just having a chat." He had a strange lilt to his voice, like he had spent too much time trying to squeak out a comical voice to an eager crowd of kids at countless birthday parties.

Elizabeth stumbled into the chair she had thrown her jacket on, dumping it into the floor. "What have you done to her?" She asked, referring to Katie, who sat there grinning like it was the best day of her life.

"I told her a joke. It was really quite funny—would you like to hear it?"

"Leave her alone. She hasn't done anything."

"She hasn't. But you will."

Elizabeth bit her lip, her mind racing in confusion. Batman said Joker was searching for something, but so far all he'd been doing was playing games. "What do you want?"

"Straight to business? Oh you're no fun. No fun at all." He set Katie down beside him on the couch and stood up, pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. "I have a proposition doctor. You help me and I help you."

"Help me with what?"

"Why, to cure the child, of course!"

"Just tell me what you need."

"Ooh, no hesitation. I like that in a woman. Now," he laid down on the floor, ankles crossed, and hands folded on his stomach. "It all started when I was five. My mother—are you getting this?"

Elizabeth was shaking again. She grabbed the stiff arms of the chair and swallowed audibly. "Uh- huh."

"I'm just kidding, doctor! Don't be so uptight!" He launched himself forward into a sitting position. "But since I see you are so uncomfortable, I'll give you the short version." Though his face continued to hold that awful smile, he seemed to sober slightly, as if what he was about to tell her was something even he didn't find quite so funny. "Look at me. Have you ever seen anything so hideous in all of your life?" Elizabeth continued to stare, unsure of what answer she should give to such a loose cannon. He continued without her answer, "Oh, I'm not worried about it so much, I think it sets me apart," he laughed.

"What is it you think I can help you with?" Her voice shook slightly when she ground out the words through clenched teeth.

"Well, you see," he began, taking out a deck of cards and shuffling them almost unconsciously, "a couple of months ago, I had a horrible accident, as you can clearly see. It wasn't only my body that was distorted by those chemicals. Every time I turn my head I see… things… that were never there before, and shouldn't be there." The hand shuffling the deck of cards slipped, and they flew out around him in colorful disarray.

It was a little odd hearing him tell her such a serious and horrifying story with that smile plastered on. It almost distracted her not to take what he was saying solemnly. Elizabeth sat up a little straighter, the psychiatrist part of her taking over, and calming her nerves ever so slightly. "What sort of things?"

"Horrible things. Fears… nightmares…" He looked up at her. "They're driving me mad."

"There is a medication--."

"I've been told," he interrupted, waving her words away with his hand. "I've tried it, and it didn't work. What I have didn't come to me naturally, so it can't be taken away as if it were."

"What you have is entirely new. How do I—?"

"I have faith in you, doctor." He slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a tiny vial, "This will make the child feel better. But only for three weeks." He set it gently on the small table in front of the couch as he stood up. "Got that doctor? Three weeks. Here, my card."

With a flick of his wrist something fluttered into her lap. It was the Jester of his deck.

* * *

Bruce heard a flurry of tiny blips from his watch under the roar of laughter from the occupants of his dinner table. He pulled the material of his suit jacket away from the small screen as he used the edge of the table as cover. The tiny blips stopped suddenly, and left nothing but silence. Smiling comradely at his companions, he pressed a button on his cell phone that made it start ringing instantly. He made a show of checking the name of the caller and excused himself from the table. "You'll have to excuse me, I really must take this call." They nodded at him and continued conversing amongst themselves as Bruce slipped out of the restaurant, making his way straight to the valet, who jumped to retrieve his keys.

"You don't have to worry about driving it up here, thanks," he said as he took the keys out of the boy's hands and walked past him.

"Uh, sir, don't you need me to tell you where I parked it?"

"No thanks, I'm looking forward to the thrill of the hunt," he called over his shoulder.

"Uh…"

In the darkness of the parking garage Bruce hit a few numbers on the tiny calculator key chain. His car lit up and beeped at him from five rows away, and he jogged over to the sleek vehicle. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, he heaved a medium sized blue duffel bag out of the trunk and slid into the back seat. He pressed another button on the inside of the car door and black panels skimmed over the windows, and he was thrust into utter darkness. He reached up and punched the overhead light on, and that dim bulb of light loosened a knot he hadn't realized had accumulated between his shoulder blades. Bruce shook himself out and pulled the Bat suit out of the bag.

After he had slipped on everything but the cowl, Bruce hit the button that released the black panels and slid into the drivers seat.

Looking out into Gotham's streets weighed something heavy on his heart. Something very close to a failed parent looking down at something they had held so much hope for. Still had hope for, he reminded himself. Gotham was not beyond saving. Gotham was not beyond saving. Gotham was not beyond saving. But whom was he trying to convince? Where were these plagues of doubt erupting from? Sometimes things were so clear to him, and other times…

Something inside of him had broken that night he turned around to find Henri Ducard as the man he really was. That little bit of him that let him trust was gone, or buried very deeply. It had been clear that he would have given his life for his teacher, his… friend, but in the end he had to take it away. There are things you do that you can heal from, but sometimes pulling the trigger means killing more than your enemy. Sometimes using the shadow for cover means letting the shadow slip inside of you as well. Hope was like the passing blur of the streetlamps his car raced by. They stood tall, fighting not to flicker against the enclosing darkness of fear and hatred, counting the minutes until day broke, so their fight would be over—if only for just a little while.

But a mere hour of peace was immeasurably better than a tireless eternity of war.

Batman slipped on the mask as he neared the apartment, shoving all excuses from his mind. He wasn't striving for half- assed. He would bring Gotham out of the darkness. If he had to, he would drag the sun out of its sky to burn holes into the deepest corners of the crime ring. That would certainly make a statement.

Batman parked beside the curb and slipped out like a breath of air, flowing from one shadow to the next. He unclipped the hookshot from his belt and aimed it at the fire exit stairway banister next to Elizabeth's study window. The hook sailed to its mark with a whir, latching on and violently yanking him off his feet. He outstretched a hand and grabbed the railing as he flew up to meet it, simultaneously unhooking the hookshot as he hauled himself onto the platform. The window to the left of the study was broken, glass glittering like abandon diamonds on the rusted steel of the fire escape. Batman stepped up to the window, the shards under his feet crunching against his impenetrable boots. The room on the other side was dark, the only light leaking in from the streetlamps behind him and from underneath the door. He stepped in through the makeshift door, looking around. The room was suited for a child, younger than twelve, and had a confused mix of stuffed animals and textbooks. As he crossed the room and softly nudged the door open, he heard voices reverberating through the hallway. One was a man's voice, someone he didn't recognize, and the other was the voice of Dr. Lee. He pushed the door open a little farther so he could enter the hallway, and stalked down the short way, his angry steps making no sound on the carpeted floor. He could see them now, the clown and the doctor. He pulled one of his bat shaped darts out of his belt as Joker pulled the card out of his jacket pocket.

"Here, my card."

The card fluttered into Elizabeth's lap as the dart pierced the flesh in Joker's hand. He gave a screech and stumbled backwards, looking around in surprise. When his yellow eyes fell on Batman, he smiled menacingly.

"Ah, the Bat joins us at last."

Batman quickly closed the distance between them and grabbed Joker by the lapels of his eye-sore of a jacket, pulling him in close so he could see that cold place in his eyes that he reserved for witnessing the monster's blood spill across the floor.

"Hope you had a nice session," he growled, "your time's up."

"Ah, ah, ah," Joker scolded, wagging his finger in Batman's face from his vulnerable position. "You wouldn't want to do something you'd regret immensely, now would you, buddy o' mine?"

"We'll see just how much I regret this," Batman let go with one fist and drew it back.

"Wait!" Elizabeth yelled, jumping from her chair. Batman turned his head as best he could in the stiff-necked cowl and glared at her, silently urging her to explain her outburst. "He's poisoned Katie!"

Batman turned back to Joker and spoke slowly, as if talking to fast would cause the anger that boiled just below the surface to spike and claim him. "For your own health, Joker, I urge you to undo the damage you've caused."

"Well, you see, Batman, I just can't do that. Might I add," he gave Batman his best obnoxious smile, "you're not really in the position to make the threats anymore." His smile dropped just a fraction. "Now let me go."

With a snarl Batman turned and heaved Joker across the room. He clattered against the wall and fell to a heap on the floor, leaving a large dent in the plaster.

"Hey!" Elizabeth objected.

"My insurance will cover it," Batman snapped.

"What insurance?" Joker laughed, "You're a BAT." He snapped up like a recovered marionette when he saw Batman begin to stalk back over him. "My, my, would you look at the time? I'll leave you two alone… have a ball!" He grabbed something out of his waistband and rolled it across the floor as he backed out into the hallway, finally turning to dash into Katie's room, where he had entered.

The small round object hit the side of Batman's boot. A sloppily painted on smiley face leered up at him. Something was clicking.

"Is that what I think it is?" Elizabeth murmured.

Batman gave a breathless "Yes" as he scooped it up in one fell swoop and chucked it at the window. Thank God Elizabeth had plenty of them around her apartment.

They stared out the window patiently as the ticking ball fell into the deserted alley. Except… Elizabeth gasped when she saw the movement on the ground as he did. The man looked up when the ball clacked on the pavement, scratching his head at the perplexity of its descent. Batman held his breath when he heard the ticking stop suddenly. One second passed after an eternity of tension, and then another. Suddenly the laughter erupted from the tiny container and floated up to them. It was Joker's voice; he had recorded it into the timed device. What a clown.

"Tick! Tick! Boom! Wahahahahahahaha!"

Elizabeth slumped onto the couch with a relieved sigh, and Batman felt very much like doing the same. He stood there awkwardly as he waited for his heart to stop racing. It was Elizabeth who spoke first.

"He wants a cure for his disease." She was staring down at the vial on the coffee table, a determined gleam in her eyes. He glanced down at her hands. She was rubbing circles into the fleshy part beneath the thumb. It must have been a nervous habit, because she looked down, seemed to realize what she was doing, and placed her hands to either side of her.

"What are you planning?"

She looked up at him, her face leaking slowly from determined to fatigued. "Research. A lot of research." She leaned forward and picked up the vial, unscrewing the lid and reaching for Katie. Batman grabbed her wrist.

"You don't plan on actually giving her that, do you?"

"Yes, actually, I do." She pried his fingers off her arm gently with her other hand. "Why?"

"If that's from the Joker, why would it be what he says it is? He can't be trusted."

"Call it intuition—oh hell, call it intellect. He's already poisoned her, and he wants my cooperation. He surely won't get it if she dies."

Batman stepped away from her, letting her kneel over the child. It was understandable why he should be so untrusting, but without the medicine Katie would surely die; at least with it she had a chance.

"I suppose this is when you make your dramatically quiet exit." Elizabeth looked up to find herself speaking to an empty room. She smiled, "It adds power and immortality to the legend."

* * *

Elizabeth's head slumped forward till her forehead punched the keys on the keyboard. Her exhaustion was a weight on her bones, dragging her down into the duskiness of slumber. After surrendering her research of solitude, she sent out letters to several major psychiatrists that lived in distant states, describing her plight to them. Instead of sitting around waiting for their reply, she had continued her seemingly vain search, and now it was taking its toll on her. She shook her head, listening as the keys were punched from the pressure of her head on them. My, wasn't this a familiar scene. No wonder she was always so weary.

Elizabeth really believed in the mind's ability to overcome fear. She always had—it was what pushed her to become what she was today. But where did she begin?

When the memory attacked her mind, she wanted to kill herself for not knowing sooner.

"Ugh! Of course!" She snapped her head up and blinked at the harsh light of the computer. "I'm a complete fool." He fingers started working the keyboard at the search engine, and one "Enter Search" later the page was filled with website links. "I'm feeling lucky." She smiled as she entered Arkham's research files.


	4. Mysterious Ways

The Cure

Chapter Four: Mysterious Ways

Jonathan Crane could hear the heels of her shoes resound off the tiles of his white castle through the thick walls of his solitude. He smiled as he listened to the steady, sure footsteps in the nervous hall draw closer to his cell: sounded like hope to him. There were voices mingled in as well. The security guard, by the sounds of it, was trying to talk her into letting him stay by her side as a bodyguard. He chuckled at his situation, he with a straightjacket pinning his arms around his torso and a death sentence looming just out of reach. What did they expect him to do, gnaw on her ankles?

What did she want anyways? After the police had captured him and thrown him in a padded cell nicely tucked away from all other life forms, every one had simply forgotten about him; or tried to. It was an intriguing state of affairs, and he was all beside himself giddy with excitement. At least he would be, if there were any hope of freedom. The closest thing someone like him would ever attain was a change of scenery. White padded walls to gray stones and metal bars for a few hours, and then… nothing. Yep, it had excitement written all over it.

There was a pause in her steps as she reached his door, and he could feel a smile creeping over his face. She was afraid. Afraid to enter the code to unlock the door, to step inside to see what a demon looks like. He inhaled this knowledge like it was the sweetest air he had ever taken to cradle in his lungs. Why was fear so intoxicating? It was lovely.

Her voice broke through his thoughts immediately, and he frowned in disgust. Her destination hadn't stalled with fear; she had stopped to argue with the guard! Certain hatred flared inside him at that moment. Who the hell did she think she was, to think she could just waltz right in there, so above fear?

Suddenly, gnawing on her ankles didn't sound quite so mundane.

* * *

It was all Elizabeth could do not to step on the toes of her over-zealous companion, who just couldn't seem to take no for an answer. Hmm, felt like highschool all over again. She stopped outside of room 360, current resident of Jonathan Crane, and turned around to face her personal leech.

"Mr. Morgan, I appreciate the concern, but I really need to do this alone."

"But Miss--."

"Sir, I have confirmation from the GM that he is restrained properly."

"That doesn't stop a lot of them…"

"I'll be fine." She stated in her best no nonsense this-case-is-closed tone. Without waiting to hear any more of his opinion of persuading, she entered the code she had been given on the pad beside the lock and stepped over the threshold.

She stopped moving just inside the door when she saw him. He sat on the opposite side of the room, legs crossed Indian style, a tired glare tossed up at her. It wasn't his ragged appearance that made her stop. It wasn't even the flickering promise of death in those strangely contrasting soft blue eyes; she had been expecting that. What had knocked the breath right out of her was the fact that he was… gorgeous. Which shouldn't have been right at all. Why would life throw such an odd card out, that someone so beautiful should be so demented? Life had never really made much sense to her before, but now it really threw her for a loop. Fairytales gave evil witches green skin and warts, but reality gave her this. What a bitch.

Elizabeth took a breath and did her best to regain her composure. "Good day, Dr. Crane," she said as she walked a little farther into the room.

"They revoked my title," was his only reply as he turned his head to give the wall his attention.

"I'll have to remember that, then. My name is Dr. Lee," Elizabeth looked up at the security cameras located in the corners on the ceiling. "Those cameras, do they record sound?"

Crane turned his head to look at her, his smirk sending a thrill down her spine. "Would you like to find out? I'd love to hear what your screams sound like."

"I'm asking Dr.—I mean, Mr. Crane, not the Scarecrow."

At this Jonathan laughed, and something inside of Elizabeth was very relieved to find it sounded nothing like the Joker's. "Ah, another one who insists a multiple personality disorder. I assure you, doctor, it's all me."

"Answer my question, please."

Jonathan stretched his legs out in front of him, wishing he could do the same with his arms. Months in the same position left him to wonder if he even had the use in his arms anymore. "Why?"

"If I told you it was for your own benefit, would you tell me?"

"That depends. Is it?"

Elizabeth stared down at him, her lips pressed tight with irritation. "Yes."

"Is it a… threat?"

"No." Her impatience was leaking from her voice, and Jonathan couldn't help but remember all of the times when he was in the reversed situation, trying to goad a new patient into cooperation so he could discern their specific symptom. He had never realized how much fun it was to give them hell. He was being a hypocrite, but so what? Once she left it was back to staring at the wall, and that didn't really appeal to him.

Finally, he relented, "The cameras don't record sound; nobody wants to hear the ravings of a madman."

"That's wonderful news, because I have a proposition for you." She could tell she had his attention when he didn't throw another barb at her. She continued, "You studied the mind' s production and reaction to fear, even creating a stimulant to monopolize other people's fear. How do you do the reverse?"

"Reverse fear?" He asked, arching an eyebrow. "That's quite a favor you ask. What do I get in return?"

"Your freedom, if it works."

Jonathan stared at her, disbelief and anger ripe in his eyes. "That's not funny. Who the hell would let me back on the streets?"

"Well, if someone were to vouch for your sanity, saying that a few treatments and medication had cleared everything up…"

Jonathan chuckled, and the smile reached his eyes. "We've got a deal."

* * *

Carolina's head bounced off the window of the rickety bus as it found a mar in the street, reminding her that she had nodded off again. She groaned in pain and shifted uncomfortably, moving her backpack out of her side. Her CD player slipped out and clattered to the floor, and she sighed as she leaned down to pick it up. Someday, she was really going to have to fix that broken zipper. There was a folded up piece of paper tangled up in the headphone wires, and she felt something very close to guilt stab at her heart. She wiggled it free and unfolded it for the fourth time that day. Once a month she got a letter from the same address. Despite her nomadic ways, they always seemed to find her. Was it a sign?

Dearest Carrie,

I don't know where you are at this exact moment, you're address and phone number keeps changing, but I hope, wherever you are, that you're closer to home.

I can't express enough that what happened was not your fault, and it never will be. You may not see it the same way I do, but you were given a beautiful gift. Good things do come from bad experiences. I know you don't like me reminding you, and that's why you ran away, but you need to be reminded. You can't just forget about it. Pushing things like this from your mind only complicates, not simplifies.

She's beautiful. It's almost like looking at a photograph of you. She is also very bright. I want you to be here, and believe it or not, she does too. I will never understand how you could possibly see something like this as your fault; you didn't do a thing except what was in your power to do. You're only human, and you can only do so much. You can never escape what you're running from. There is no place on earth for Utopia.

Stop running away from her like she was a plague. I'm tempted to go out there and drag you right back home, but I know you have to make this journey by yourself. Just remember that she, like you, did not ask for this. She doesn't deserve to be treated like this. She needs you, and you might just need her as well.

Come back home. Please, if only for a few days. Just spend some time with us, and if you still feel the same way as before, then by all means, carry on with your life as you choose. But I think you really need to be here right now. If not for her, and not for yourself, then for me.

Love you always,

Liz

That gal always knew just what to say, but… Looking out of the window and seeing the slums of her current home whizzing by, the thought of returning back to her true home in Gotham sent a brick of fear plummeting down into her insides. She almost couldn't stomach being in that place again.

But she was tired of running. So tired, yet she couldn't stay in one city. She had no idea why. She couldn't explain why every time she moved farther away, every time she stepped on a bus with her backpack by her side, her heart had a cold, barren feeling, like she were struggling through a planet of snowdrift, ice up to her waist and nothing around for as far as the eye could see. There was nothing there for her; she couldn't deny that at least in Gotham she would have someone close by, someone to hang on to when the memories became too much to handle. That was all she really wanted, right? Liz was right. In every letter she had sent, bringing both buried memories and feelings up to the surface, she was right. Running away couldn't reverse what had happened.

Somehow, in a place of Carrie's soul that she had never really given much thought about before, Liz's letters almost gave a sense of peace. They reminded her that she had someone, that she wasn't alone, so she never really regretted receiving one every month. Caroline chuckled; she must really be growing up.

Would returning to Gotham really be so bad? He had been incarcerated, she would never have to see him again, but that didn't really take away what he had done. But what were a few days? Maybe going home was what she really needed. She had tried everything else, what was one more detour on her road to everywhere and nowhere? She didn't know what she was doing with her life, and her sister seemed like she knew a hell of a lot better so she could point her in the right direction.

Maybe she would even have some real food.

* * *

Elizabeth tapped the end of her pen on her glossy mahogany desk, her chin cradled in her other hand. On the other side sat Jonathan, not on the patients couch, but in the less intimidating straight backed chair that had been placed opposite hers. No one knew the true use of the chair, besides the fact that in came in handy for stubborn people. She had to go through hell to get him into her own office, away from the prying eyes of Arkham Asylum, and, unfortunately for Jonathan, she just didn't have the persuasion skills necessary to convince them her health was not in danger if his straight jacket was removed.

Awkward was an understatement for the tone in that room. She got him to agree to help, great, but what now? He wouldn't help until free, she didn't trust him, but couldn't get what she wanted unless she assented, so they were at an impasse. Gotham PD wouldn't allow him freedom unless she had proof of his treatment. Elizabeth didn't know what type of proof would be sufficient, but she could only hope that "proof" didn't mean they were feeding her lies just to make her happy. Worst-case scenario was that they would keep stacking up requirements for his release, and eventually they would come across one they couldn't meet. Gotham PD was crawling with corrupt individuals, so the outcome was possible.

Jonathan finally spoke, sending the silence shattering around their heads. His voice was thoughtful, with a tone that reminded her that he was more at home in her current position, not as one of the patients. "What do you fear, Dr. Lee?"

"Is there some kind of relevance to that question?" His question puzzled her, and for some reason, frightened her slightly.

"No, it's just a question. But we can go back to sitting in silence if you like."

Elizabeth didn't answer immediately, but stared out the window as she tried to avoid thinking about it. After a few moments, she spoke, "I fear evil."

"Evil? Why? The only logical thing to fear is fear itself."

"What?" she asked, turning her head to look at him, brow furrowed. "Why? Fear is just an emotion, it can't hurt you, so why fear what can bring you no harm?"

"And you think evil can harm you? Evil is not a weapon; it is a moral, an idea. Fear, however," he leaned forward as he was talking, really getting into his lecture, "will twist your mind, if it is exposed for too long. It will create darkness where there is light, hate where there is love," he smiled, and it was thick with dark fascination, "and evil where there was once good."

Elizabeth felt her eyes widen, but there wasn't anything she could do to stop it. She cleared her throat, "Well, I guess everyone has to have a hobby." She shook her head and looked down at her desk, where her pencil lay alone and forgotten. She must have dropped it at one point or another. "I can't say I agree with you, though. Fear can only twist your mind if you let it. I stand by my notion that fear is just an emotion, and therefore not laudable of terror."

"Of course you do." Jonathan leaned back in his chair again. So neither of their beliefs would sway. Fine. Most people were obnoxiously unyielding when it came down to who was right.

"But who could say?" Elizabeth continued, as if she had heard his thoughts churning. "I mean, sure we could moan and groan about who really knew the answers to the universe, but who are we to decide anyways?" She was tapping her pen again, and if it weren't for the jacket, Jonathan wasn't too sure he wouldn't do something dangerous with it just to get her to stop.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked, disdain in his voice. "That everything we choose to believe is just up for grabs, various points of opinion?"

"No, of course not. I know many do struggle with god complexes, but what do we really know of life except by our own experiences and what we make of them?"

"That's an interesting perspective, but I'm surprised you haven't driven yourself crazy by now. You're running yourself in circles."

"Of course I am." She expressed with a small shrug. The meeting wasn't really getting them anywhere, except for arguments of theories. She would have to think of something soon, something that would please Gotham PD, but what did she know about what they searched for in a reformed criminal? An apology? Actually, that was probably it.

Elizabeth used the next twenty minutes asking about his past, what had led him to his particular studies. After all, it was how she started with every patient. It wasn't fooling the Gotham PD that Elizabeth was interested in. It hadn't been from the moment she stepped into Arkham Asylum. Everyday she helped people pull their lives into perspective little by little, and that was what she planned on doing now. There was no such thing as a lost cause to her; people could turn their lives around. Even the most bull-minded of people could change, if they wanted to.

The challenge was could she convince Jonathan Crane that he wanted to? There was reason to his fascination, not just obscure, twisted madness. Along with that, was she up for the challenge?

* * *

When Bruce made his way down the steps into the Batcave, Lucius Fox was already there, leaning over a pile of equipment that he had laid next to the jagged cavern wall. They had been trying to set up a computer system down there, which proved to be almost more difficult than anything else they had to set up down there, because the wiring had to go through what sometimes felt like many miles of rock without much of the help he could have gotten with paid construction workers. A life of secrecy proved to be quite a pain in the ass, sometimes.

Lucius looked up at Bruce as he found the bottom of the stairs, smiling before turning back to his work.

"I'd say just a few more weeks, Mr. Wayne, and you'll have a state of the art system here." He stepped back to admire his handiwork, which consisted of little more than numerous holes. "And as a special favor, you'll even get a drilling system."

"Drilling system? What does that have to do with my computer?"

"Just a little computer program of my own design that allows you to "drill" through even the toughest firewalls with little to no effort at all. Just type in where you want to go, like say… the account of Gotham's most dangerous crime ring, and you're there. It's like handing you the secrets of the city on a silver platter."

"Why, Mr. Fox, I didn't know you were a hacker. Though, I admit, I really should have seen it coming."

Lucius chuckled, "Let's just say I had a little too much free time in college."

"And you'd have too much free time now if it weren't for me. I really appreciate you doing this for me."

"It's not a problem at all, Mr. Wayne, I owe you too much."

Bruce smiled as he removed his jacket, "Instead of arguing, how about I come down there and help you out?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

They continued feeding wires through the rock, where they wound up into the mansion to be hooked into the more conveniently placed outlets sporadically placed in several rooms. Unless really searching for what cable went where, no one would know the difference except Alfred and him.

A couple of hours later the two men straightened up, relieving their abused backs. Lucius slapped his hands against his legs, trying to get as much of the dirt off of his hands as he could.

"Well, I think that should just about do it for today. Tomorrow I'll start bringing in the actual equipment, and that's when the fun starts."

"I'll be looking forward to it. Have a safe trip home."

"Have a safe trip, yourself," He smiled knowingly as he turned to leave.

Once Lucius was gone, Bruce turned to the alcove he kept his Batsuit hanging in. As he made the transformation, he hoped he had been right in letting Lucius in on his secret identity. Technically, he already knew from almost the beginning, but it was something that he could deny and still not be lying about. Not really. But now he was up close and personal with the advances he was making to the cave, though whether he liked it or not there was really no other way around it. Lucius' technology was a valuable asset to have, but Lucius was a valuable friend. Hopefully letting him get close didn't mean putting him in danger. Alfred was okay so far, right? Of course, no one ever blames the butler…

Batman didn't take the Batmobile with him that night. He felt oddly pensive, and the quiet rooftops stretching above Gotham seemed like a more appealing mode of transportation at the moment. He stared down at neon streets from the perch beside a gargoyle on the ledge of Gotham City Bank, blending in perfectly except for the sway of his cape in the slight breeze. He could see the air tram from where he stood, rebuilt and humming healthily again. He had almost decided against rebuilding it, but the tram, like many other things, reminded him of his father, and everything he stood for, plus that little thing about falling. The tram fell. It fell so Bruce could pick it back up.

He changed his line of sight so that it roamed the sky, but it was black velvet, nothing shining up there but the moon and a few stars. The only time Gotham would have a true starry night would be if there were a complete power outage. Looking up and seeing the universe stretch out above him would be one of the things he would miss sorely.

There was a clatter on the roof of the building to his right, and he turned, automatically taking a defensive position. He crept to the edge of the bank roof and leapt over onto the shorter building. His cape fumed out around him as he landed, making a ruffling noise. The rooftop looked deserted, but Batman could almost feel someone there, watching him. Stealthily he slipped one of his bat shaped blades out of his belt and inched forward, bracing himself for his invisible fiend. The rooftop contained only the chimneystacks to hide behind and the inlet to the building, so construction workers could come and go without using a lift. As Batman peeked around the corner of one of the chimneystacks, he heard the object fly through the air as it aimed in an arc for his back. He whirled around, swinging out his arm to block it, catching the butt of the gun just in time.

"It would have worked better if you had just shot at me." He growled, hand still on the gun as he and his opponent played tug-of- war with it.

"I would never do such a cowardly thing," came the woman's reply, "My father's vengeance is worth more than that."


	5. Rooftop Revelations

The Cure

Chapter Five: Rooftop Revelations

"It would have worked better if you had just shot at me." He growled, hand still on the gun as he and his opponent played tug-of- war with it.

"I would never do such a cowardly thing," came the woman's reply, "My father's vengeance is worth more than that." She brought her foot up in a roundhouse kick, and Batman dodged it, backing away and relinquishing his hold on the gun. She brought the mini- uzi up to aim at him, and used the barrel to point at his arm-guards. "Where did you get those?" She spat, "Off my father's corpse?"

Batman didn't raise his hands in surrender, though she had the gun pointed at him, and he had lost his blade to the shadows. She was talking about him like he was a murderer, nothing new there; a lot of Gotham population took Detective Bullock on his word when he claimed Batman a threat to society. Now, thanks to him, many people were pinning tragedies on him, using him as a scapegoat. Almost made him want to change his mind, but something in him knew he could change theirs first.

"Put the gun down, it's not me you're after." He said slowly, like you would talk a jumper off the edge of Gotham Bridge.

"Don't try your hero crap on me, I'm not buying it."

Well, that didn't work. His eyes darted around, looking for anything he could use, though he didn't know how he could move anywhere with the gun on him. She aimed it at him like she knew how to use it.

"Who was your father?"

The barrel dropped a fraction of an inch as she looked over it at him in horror. "You really can't remember the man you murdered? How insolent. Very well, since I have to spell everything out for you: My name is Talia, daughter of Ra's al Ghul. Remember that while you're choking on your own blood!" She pulled the trigger and the bullets thundered across his chest. He fell backwards, rolling behind the cover of the chimneystacks.

Daughter? He had a daughter? Ouch…

So if Elizabeth felt like having sessions with Jonathan was like pulling teeth, how did she think he felt? He was on the receiving end without any anesthetics. But he supposed the price wasn't too great to pay for the reward.

Something that really confused him in retrospect, however, was that he had told her about his past. He didn't want her to analyze him, so he could have spun a web of lies that were just as satisfying as the truth, but he didn't. And he didn't know why.

It was normal for a person to need to talk about their problems. Was that what was happening? He shook his head. No. He wasn't going to start questioning himself, or having regrets. There was no need to.

Did Dr. Lee want to change him? Who or what he was was indisputable, and how could he be anything else? He couldn't be something he wasn't. Was there a time when he could have done something differently that would have changed where he was now? Maybe. But the past has come and gone, and change was no longer an option.

Yet he found himself looking forward to the next day, which was the first time since Ra's al Ghul came to him with his offer. He had told Jonathan they would hold Gotham ransom, that he would receive fifty percent of their earnings. But complete annihilation had been his goal, and if Jonathan had known, he would have never agreed. He had his moral standards. Besides, how would the destruction of Gotham benefit him? He would have to start from scratch in a whole new city, and being the sole survivor of Gotham would look just a little too suspicious. That would be _if_ he were to be the sole survivor of Gotham. Ra's lied about the deal, so he probably lied about the depth of their partnership as well.

It had been greed that brought him here. That and the thought "Ooh, now I'll show them all." He couldn't deny it any longer. He was having regrets. It was hard not to when he found himself nearly immobilized in a padded cell. Hell, the monotony alone drove him more insane everyday if nothing else did.

Now he finally had a chance to get out of here. What would he do with his life afterwards? He couldn't go back to being a psychiatrist; he had been blacklisted, and he imagined more than a few criminals in the Narrow were pissed as hell and setting a price on his head. If he thought about it, staying in Arkham was probably his safest bet, but he had a little trouble with his arrogance when it came down to death threats. There was more than one way to turn the tables, and once he was out of there, he wouldn't waste any time finding his way back to the top.

* * *

Elizabeth was having trouble sleeping, so when she answered the knocking on the door, it was probably the only reason she had stirred herself at three 'o clock in the morning. The face on the other side of the door certainly didn't look like it was suffering from the lack of sleep it was getting, and when Elizabeth saw her, she suddenly was not either.

Little Carrie stood on the other side of the door with a huge grin on her face, as if she had just come back from the store with the carton of milk she had been sent for, and oh would you look at that, strawberries were on sell too.

"Hey, big sis, long time no see," Truthfully, Carrie had been running conversation starters through her mind on the long way up to the apartment on the second floor, and that had definitely NOT been it at all. Well, shucks. Elizabeth stood there and gaped, like she had turned the corner and came face to face with a ghost. Well, that should be pretty close to the truth anyways. How long had she been gone?

"It's been… six years."

Carrie's smile faltered, "Wow. You still haven't stopped doing that, have you?"

It was Elizabeth's turn to smile, and she began blinking furiously to keep the tears back. "I didn't think you got any of my letters."

"Yep, got them all. And they were damn depressing, too." They shifted in silence for a moment or two; so many things left unsaid hanging in the air between them that needed to be voiced, where to start? "Hey, uh, Liz… can I come inside? It's kind of cold."

Elizabeth jumped as if she had forgotten she had been standing there, and maybe she had. "I'm so sorry, of course." She stepped back, and Carrie entered, shrugging off her backpack. "Are you hungry? I can fix you something."

Carrie sighed wistfully as she placed her backpack in a chair. "Oh, you are an angel from heaven above."

Elizabeth smiled and shook her head as she opened the fridge door and began shifting through various leftovers. "I thought you were an atheist."

Carrie shrugged, "I don't know what I am, but I do know that it sounded nice."

Elizabeth pulled a large dish out of the fridge that was only half full. "Yes, very poetic."

"You always were jealous of my art skills."

Elizabeth wagged a fork at Carrie, "Do you want this food, or not?"

Carrie grinned innocently, "I didn't say a word."

As Elizabeth roamed around the kitchen fixing Carrie's plate of food, Carrie tentatively glanced into the living room. "So, uh, you don't mind if I take a look around?"

Elizabeth glanced up knowingly, "At the end of the hall. The door doesn't creak if you open it."

"What, the bathroom?" Carrie asked hastily as she slipped out of the kitchen. She knew though that Elizabeth hadn't been talking about the bathroom, just as Elizabeth had known why Carrie wanted to "look around". Why she was here had been in every one of Elizabeth's letters; it would be unnatural if she didn't know.

The hallway was much longer than it looked, and Elizabeth was right- the door didn't creak when opened. The small form of her daughter turned over in her sleep, and Carrie held her breath, afraid to wake her. Having Katie's open eyes meet hers would be facing a beast of guilt, and she would be swallowed whole. Suddenly she found herself kneeling by the bed, and she couldn't quite remember resolving to walk in. Her hand hovered over Katie's face, and then she thought, oh what the hell, and softly touched her fingertips to the sleeping child's cheek, running them down to trace her jaw line with a tenderness only a mother could have for her child. Funny, she didn't remember making that transition. Could it be possible that it had been there since the day Katie had been born, and she was too afraid and delusional to realize it?

"I think I missed you," she whispered softly, fighting back her own tears, just as Elizabeth had earlier. She bit her lip, because suddenly she couldn't remember why she had ever looked down on this child in despair or disgust, and no doubt Liz's words had quelled those feelings somehow.

The woman in question kneeled down beside her, and the look that they shared said more than anything her sister had ever written. Carrie eventually had to break the weight of the gaze, and she stared down at the lump on the bed as she spoke. "I don't know what I was looking for out there, but I think I found her." She could see Elizabeth nodding out of the corner of her eye.

"You certainly have grown," she agreed, "Not height-wise, though, I don't think that would be possible." They chuckled at each other good-naturedly and Carrie leaned over to nudge Elizabeth with her shoulder playfully. "Come on," Elizabeth continued, bobbing her head at the door. "We should let her sleep. You're dinner's ready." Carrie nodded in compliance and followed her out.

Elizabeth sat across from Carrie as she ate, neither sharing a word as Carrie thoughtfully chewed on her food. Eventually, they would talk, and Elizabeth was patient, she had to be.

Finally Carrie placed her fork on the plate, a sign she had finished. "I'm a little afraid, so I kind of want to ask for dessert, but it'll only be delaying the inevitable, wouldn't it?" Elizabeth simply smiled and nodded. "Well… can I have desert anyways? Do you have chocolate? I could really go for some chocolate."

Elizabeth stood up and fetched a carton of ice cream from the freezer, and a spoon. "Here, I won't even bother with the bowl."

"Yay. So, okay, it's chocolate. You can start the lecture now."

"Carrie, I'm not going to lecture you."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I'm not mom. And I'm not a mom, though I've been acting like one for six years."

"Aha! See, lecture, right there. You can't fool me. Come on, just bitch at me, I know you want to."

"You're right, I do want to. I want to throttle you, but I can't say any more than what I've already been saying to you in my letters, and they brought you to me, so what more could I ask for?"

"A good thrashing." Carrie said through a mouthful of ice cream.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "I… actually, I can't even come up with a good argument for that."

Carrie smiled, "I know I shouldn't be, but that answer somehow made me feel sort of satisfied."

Elizabeth stared at the table as she carefully picked through her words, "But… I do want to know… why… what you were feeling… thinking…"

Carrie paused in her gluttony, "You're not going to analyze me, are you?"

"No, no. I want to know as a sister."

"Okay, in that case."

Elizabeth watched as Carrie continued to eat. Fifteen seconds, thirty seconds, "Well?"

"There's not much for me to say, except… I don't know. It was like I spent half my life on impulsive nerves. I was running away from something I should have embraced; there, that's you talking. But it's true." She stopped talking and eating, and sat there with the spoon hovering over the carton, staring down at the tabletop as if she could see the memories float across the wooden surface. Who knows, she probably could. "I still see his face when I'm alone," When she said that, Elizabeth's hand shot out to cradle Carrie's free hand. "I replayed that day in my mind for the first few years, trying to figure out what I could have done differently, done better, done… just done. And there was… nothing, I finally realized. Yet I still couldn't forgive myself. When Katie was born, I saw it as his seed, not mine, that had taken breath, and I just couldn't… be near her, because it was being near him." Carrie gripped Elizabeth's hand and looked up at her. "She's not, is she?"

Elizabeth strayed from the logical voice that would have mentioned that the child was both of theirs, and shook her head. She also refrained from pointing out Carrie's long speech as opposed to the fact that she had said there wasn't much to say. That would be rude; besides, she didn't mind at all. "You'll see just how much. Tomorrow, after you and I have both slept."

"Oh, yeah." Carrie remembered as she dropped the spoon. "What time is it?"

"A little before four."

"Oof. I will not be able to sleep."

"Me neither. Which is why you're in here instead of still outside."

"So… chick flicks until dawn?" Elizabeth laughed at her, and quickly quelled hr laughter, remembering those who could actually manage sleep.

"Well… for old times sake, why not?"

"I've got the ice cream if you've got the channel changer."

"Just don't get any of that on the couch." Elizabeth said as she stood up.

"When did I ever—oh, shut up."

It was more than Elizabeth could have asked for to find Carrie on her doorstep that morning. It was even more of a marvel to find that the child was gone, at least for the most part, but Elizabeth would never want Carrie to lose her playful side. Part of her hoped that her duty of premature motherhood was over now that Carrie had come for her rightful place by Katie's side, and part of her would miss that part of her life forever. But she had already chosen between the two, and she didn't regret her decision. Carrie belonged with Katie, and yes, it would make her remember that night, but nothing would make her forget. Maybe being Katie would at least make her okay with her own existence, which Carrie had never doubted, but still dangerously wished she could end.

The week was just getting more and more interesting.

Batman fingered the new holes that decked out his Batsuit as he crouched behind the chimneystacks he was using for cover. Talia's footsteps crunched over the shells and little pieces of brick that had crumbled off when part of the spray had missed him and embedded themselves in the chimney. Now was a good a time as any, he couldn't hide out forever. He shoved himself into a jump, leaping over his makeshift shield, and sailed over Talia's head. Her eyes widened as she stared at him as he glided over her, her reaction in bringing the gun up a little slow due to shock. Before he hit the ground he kicked the gun out of her hands, and it skated across the rooftop. He landed gracefully on both feet, his movements liquid. Sometimes he was more cat than bat. Talia seemed to forget about her gun when she saw that her aim to her target had been true.

"What are you?" She asked, her words drawn out in astonishment.

Batman ignored her question, "I did not kill your father, but I did not save him either." He spread his hands apologetically, "I can't say that I am sorry. I saved his life once, because he gave me direction in mine, and I thought he was a friend."

"Some friend," She growled.

"That's what I thought, when he turned on me." He lowered his arms and gazed into her eyes. "Did you know what your father had planned for Gotham?"

Her jaw clenched, "You didn't have to kill him."

"I'll take that as a yes." It was time for him to leave, he couldn't convince her he wasn't evil, and he sure as hell wasn't going to kill her just to shut her up. He turned his back to her to walk away, but Talia didn't take it too well. He took a few steps before he heard the safety click on another gun.

"Don't walk away from me."

Batman turned around, his gaze traveling down her form. Long, beautiful brown hair that fell partially over intense brown eyes, and a lithe frame. She was wearing a simple V- neck black sweater, which clung to every sensual curve, and tight black jeans. Where had she been hiding the gun, and how had he missed it?

"Like what you see?" She asked him, disdain crawling through her voice like maggot he was beginning to resemble.

"Got anything else hiding in there I might need to know about?"

"I'll let you know!" She yelled as she ran for him, drawing the gun back to use as a club. She wasn't going to shoot him again—she had seen how well that had worked the first time. Maybe the rest of him wasn't as resistant to pain.


	6. Extractions, Distortions, and Affections

Disclaimer: George, Amy, Mr. Bailey, Gracie, the Hendersons, and the Lees belong to me. All of the more interesting characters like Talia al Ghul and Jarvis Tech, and the more common known ones belong to Warner Bros. And if they don't belong to them, they still don't belong to me.

Chapter Six: Extractions, Distortions, and Affections

THURSDAY OF THE FIRST WEEK.

The day did not reflect the silent storms in Elizabeth's mind. Shifting through paperwork that suddenly swam over her usually organized desk, she could not place the sense of foreboding that seemed to tint the shadows of her office. She had just surrendered to the fight she was having with the mess when the door opened; hesitantly, as if it were just the slight tilt of the earth that made it move. She looked up, expecting to find her friend and co-worker Harlene Quinzelle, but the figure was far from that cheerful, feminine face. Jonathan Crane stepped around the door, shutting it silently behind him, as if if he weren't gentle the foundation would break. He was in a business suit, and Elizabeth could tell by the way it hung on his form that it was tailor made. Maybe Arkham had a boost in its income and decided to change its style. It didn't seem likely, however, and Elizabeth's feeling of unease that permeated the room before he entered suddenly spiked to an all time high.

Jonathan took a step towards her, and Elizabeth didn't move. Didn't speak. Whatever words she had been forming in her mind had fled for cover when she saw the look in his eyes. They were uncharacteristically soft, but still with that frostbitten edge, and underneath that was something darker that made things low in her body tighten. She stood there, watching him as he walked closer. Closer. She could imagine how she looked, it was how she felt, a doe caught in the headlights of a car, knowing what came next but it was all happening too fast to stop. Or was it? Everything felt like it was moving so slowly, like she had all the time in the world to do something, anything, but she couldn't. So fast and so slow, and she was caught in the middle of it, like a resilient tree in the middle of a hurricane.

He was there then, right in front of her, and by some miracle reality came back in a rush of air, slapping her in the face. She blinked several times and furrowed her brow in consternation.

"Mr. Crane, how--?"

"It's Jonathan."

"What? No, how…" Elizabeth was shaking her head, looking around, at anything but him, anything but those vacuuming eyes. "What's going on?"

"I made some friends in Arkham. They showed me the light."

"Like hell they did." She muttered. When he said "friends" many things finally came into perspective. Who better than Jonathan Crane to make an alliance with the new boss of the crime ring to weasel himself out of incarceration? What did this mean for her and Katie? She now had nothing to offer him in exchange for his help. She finally looked back up at him, pleading him with her eyes. "Don't say this means our deal is off…"

"Well, I suppose I could be persuaded…" As he said the last word his hand came up to take the lapel of her jacket in his hands, and he ran it through his hand, up and down. Up and down. Elizabeth grabbed his hand as it strayed a little too high, her eyes wide in shock.

"What are you doing? What are you saying?" She felt like she needed to sit down right then to take in everything that was happening. She stepped back from him and laid a hand on the back of her chair, using it to steady herself. Nothing today seemed to be making sense. She'd like to blame it on her mere two hours of sleep, but just because she was feeling off kilter didn't mean the world should act that way as well.

"They let me out yesterday," his words were soft and deep, and she was drowning in them, in him. She wanted to let that voice roll off her bare skin, wanted those hands to… She shook her head. Something else besides lack of sleep was going on. "I came back here," he continued, "because I couldn't get you off my mind." He stepped closer to her and she jumped, the wheels on the chair rolling away from her while her weight was still on them. He caught her arm as she fell backwards, pulling her back up, and into him. His lips were suddenly so close to hers, too close, and it would be a shame if she didn't caress them with her own.

She shouldn't. She really shouldn't, but even as she was thinking it his lips were on hers, his hands on hers, drawing them down to press her palms into the desk. Now with the desk at her back and her arms pinned there was nowhere to run, but she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to. She kissed him back, opening her lips to let him deepen it, her barriers all but melted as she stood there engulfed in the fierce warmth of his arms. His hands withdrew from hers, and she felt her suit jacket slip off her shoulders. She picked her hands of the desk so it could glide properly to the floor.

Jonathan cradled her head back with a hand at the nape of her neck, tracing her neck with scalding kisses. Elizabeth draped one arm around his neck, the other sliding the shirt away from where it had been tucked into his pants, baring a rather well toned stomach for a doctor. He hissed as her hand slid up underneath the shirt, caressing the skin that lay beneath. He drew away to shed his own jacket, and began tugging at the tie he shouldn't have even bothered wearing. She reached up to touch the tie and it slipped through his fingers, joining the two jackets on the floor. He jerked his fingers down the middle of his shirt in a savage motion, sending the buttons flying. He moved to kiss her again, grasping her hips and hoisting her onto the desk. She leaned back until she was lying down and he followed, never breaking the kiss. Paperwork slid around them to cascade off the side of the desk, as if they were in the middle of a miniature waterfall.

* * *

Talia blocked Batman's kick, but as she didn't have the convenient arm braces that Batman had to protect her arms, the kick knocked her backwards. She struggled to stay on her feet, but knew she was fighting a losing battle. The man before her was well armored, whereas she was wearing nothing but simple cotton and denim. Not a bright choice for hand to hand combat with a suit of armor, but she hadn't been expecting him to be impenetrable to bullets.

Batman stood as still as the gargoyles on the neighboring building, refusing to take advantage of her moment of vulnerability. How terribly noble for an assassin. Or was he just taking pity on her because she was a mere woman? She was beginning to see why her father had chosen him over her to pass down the family business to. It made her angry though part of her understood, and she couldn't explain except to say that it was what her father believed, and above all things, she would stand by that.

She began stalking towards him again when her watch started beeping irritably at her. She glanced down at it, checking the time, then swore as she turn around and ran to the edge of the building, disappearing off the side. Batman stood there for a moment in the dawning light of morning, her behavior only slightly perplexing.

The clock struck six and the mouse ran down. Hickory dickory dock.

* * *

Elizabeth gasped and tore herself from sleep, shaking the remnants of the dream from her mind. They stayed, like stubborn fleas that made their home on the back of an old mongrel stranded on the side of the road. She untangled herself from the blanket she had used the night before, tossing her half over Carolina's face. That was definitely the last time she stayed up to watch some stupid chick flick at ungodly hours of the morning. Eating that soon before sleep hadn't helped either, but late snacking usually led to nightmares, not… oh wait, that might have been what that was.

Carolina moaned and turned over, throwing the blanket away from her face so she could breath. She slanted her eyes open to regard Elizabeth sleepily, before the heaviness dragged her lids slowly back down.

"Wake up, it's six."

"No," Carolina mumbled. "Six is sleepy time."

"Not for Katie. School starts in an hour." This made Carolina pull herself up into a sitting position; her eyes wide open if not wide awake.

"What? What kind of school expects their students to learn that early in the morning? You might as well be teaching a room full of corpses."

"It's the same elementary school you and I went to. You know where it is. I have to get ready for work." Carolina jumped up as Elizabeth made her way to the bathroom, following her in. Elizabeth turned on her, "Hello, alone time?"

"What do you mean, you're going to work? You're going to leave me all alone?"

"Carrie, you've been making it on your own for six years, I thought you'd be accustomed to it by now."

"That was different!"

"How?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with her!"

"That's easy. Drop her off at school. Stay away from the school premises for eight hours. Pick her up."

"And then?"

"And then… do what you normally do. Live." Elizabeth turned on the faucet in the shower, watching the water spray outwards above her head. "Can I take a shower now? There's really nothing to worry about." She looked behind her at Carolina, who was breathing too fast and looking frightened. She turned around and grabbed her shoulders. "Calm down! Geez, just do what I just told you to do. It's nothing to freak out about. Sure, you no longer have a life of your own, but it's worth it."

"What if she doesn't like me?"

Elizabeth sighed, "Carrie, you're being ridiculous. That doesn't happen until she's fourteen." Carolina giggled, and Elizabeth turned her to the door. "Now get out, you're making me late. Just wake her up and fix her breakfast. She already knows how to dress herself."

"Oh, all right." Carolina sighed as she exited the bathroom. Elizabeth closed the door behind her, and turned around to remove her pajamas. She stared down at the buttons descending down the middle, almost afraid to touch them. It hadn't been her buttons that had been removed in her dream, but she could almost still hear the sound of snapping thread in the dark corners of her mind. Where did that come from? She was tempted to dig her dream dictionary out of her bookshelf and study it again, but quelled those feelings, assuring herself she most certainly didn't want to know why or what they meant. She could guess, and it didn't mean anything good.

It didn't mean anything, she resolved, undoing the buttons. It was a product of falling asleep right after a romance movie and possibly her current loneliness, which wasn't up for reflectivity.

* * *

Bruce briskly made his way up the steps that led into Wayne Industries at exactly seven thirty that morning. He was really getting better at the whole insomnia thing. If anyone ever guessed that he had been up the whole night by tracing the tell tale signs of the purple bags under his eyes, they would just assume he had spent the entire night gallivanting with a lady on each arm. Being Gotham's playboy was a perfect cover up for Batman to use. Strange how it happened because of his self- loathing instead of his planning everything down to the last detail. As much as he would have liked the genius look, the irony was just so much more fun.

A portly man with graying black hair greeted him inside the entrance. "Good morning Mr. Wayne, Mr. Bailey is in your office with a prospective candidate for that open position."

"Ah, terrific," Bruce answered as he walked past him. The man continued to follow him to the elevators. He ignored him as he thought to himself, who the hell is Mr. Bailey, and… what position is open? Bruce shook his head. Nobody ever tells him anything.

The elevator pinged as the doors slid open, revealing a floor that looked very much like the floor he started on, the only hint that it was any different was the new secretary and the glass paned double doors to the far left that led to his spacious office. He could see the two people patiently waiting for him inside through the frosted logo on the doors. The man that had been tagging along fell behind as he passed the secretary's desk, either to have a chat or because that was merely where he belonged when he wasn't following other people around. Bruce entered unaccompanied into his office, and his guests stood from their chairs to greet him, Mr. Bailey's form obscuring Bruce's view of the woman with him.

"Good morning Mr. Bailey," Bruce greeted, shaking his hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," He stepped aside so he could introduce his companion, and Bruce had an internal battle to keep whatever emotion that nearly surged forth off of his face. "This is Talia Moore, I interviewed her yesterday and felt she was perfect for the job. Of course, that's all up to you."

Bruce smiled amiably as he shook Talia's hand. Yeah Bailey, I bet you felt she was perfect for a lot of things, he thought dryly.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Wayne," Talia smiled a little mysteriously, "My father has told me all about you." Bruce felt, with an internal grimace, his face drop, and his hand slip out of hers.

"Has he, now?" Bruce regained his stolen composure, plastering a new smile on his face, while really all he wanted to do was boot Bailey out of his office and finish it with Talia. It was all fun and games until someone learned Bruce's secret identity. He regarded her with a cheerful smile and wary eyes, knowing she could see right through it, but until Bailey was gone she would have to deal with the obnoxiously cheesy grin. As if sensing that nobody really cared about his presence in the room, Bailey clapped Bruce on the back on his way out.

"I'll leave all the big decisions to you, then."

"Yeah, thanks Billy." Bruce could see the expression on his face out of the corner of his eyes, the way he opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it, and closed the door with a shake of his head. Once he had left, Talia stifled a chuckle with her hand.

"You handled that very well."

"Why thank you," he said as he made his way behind his desk, "I do take pride in my ability to irritate and insult others."

"Can't imagine how you could have made it this far if you didn't."

"Aren't you trying to get this job, and not bomb horribly on your second interview?" He asked her as he planted himself in his plush chair, resting his elbows on the arms.

"Oh, I'll get the job. Unless, of course, you'd like me to alert everyone of your great affinity with bats at the party your having tonight at Wayne Mansion."

"You must be mistaken, my dear, I'm afraid I haven't made any plans for a party at my mansion tonight. If you're interested, though, there's going to be a big to-do next month--."

"Mr. Wayne, your house burned down once, it would be a shame if it and the precious bat cave crumbled in on themselves again due to a couple of carefully placed bombs."

Bruce's elbows slipped off the arms of the chair, jerking him down with the sudden loss of support. His eyes widened, then became suspicious slits. "You didn't do that last night," he stated.

"Of course not. But last night wasn't the only night this earth has seen. Who's to say I did it during night at all?" She sat down in the chair she had occupied early and inspected her manicured nails. Bruce regarded her in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"What job is it, exactly, that they're offering that you're so interested in, anyways?"

"There is no job, per se. Bailey is one of my father's men."

"Then what is it I'm offering you to keep your silence?"

Talia lost interest in her nails and turned her attention to him. "Before my father died, before he left to destroy Gotham--."

"Please don't tell me you're going to follow in your father's footsteps and attempt to destroy Gotham as well…"

Talia sighed, "As tempting as it is, Mr. Wayne, no. Now please let me finish."

"You're right. How very uncouth of me. Please continue."

"Before my father left for Gotham, he sent me on an expedition to retake and secure a project in the Middle East he had been working on for several years before I had been born. When I arrived, the site was badly damaged, and is currently open to anyone who strays into the site. You're going to give my followers and me financial support to rebuild the site and create a stronghold."

Bruce's jaw clenched, his elbows resting on his desk, and one fist balled into his other hand in concentration. "I really must fire Bailey."

"Are we in agreement?"

"You will be attending the party tonight, am I right?"

"To the very end, if you like." She said with a devious smile.

Bruce sat back in his chair, his arms sliding into his lap. "May I ask what kind of project it was that he was working on?"

"No."

"Of course not. I certainly wouldn't want to pry; you clearly have the upper hand in this… arrangement."

"I'll see you tonight then?" Talia ask as she stood.

"Tonight." Bruce assented, staring sternly out of the large tinted windows that made up the entire wall to his right. Talia simply smiled in satisfaction as she made her exit, leaving Bruce to his thoughts, which almost had nothing to do with taking a running jump through the wall of glass.

He could, of course, follow Talia when she left Gotham for the Middle East. It would mean leaving Wayne Industries in the hands of Lucius Fox, but why not? He had been gone for seven years, and hadn't found it a smoldering hole in the ground upon his return, but it hadn't exactly been thriving in his image either, or even in his name, really, if he had decided to be gone for much longer. As much as he trusted Fox, he wasn't willing to abandon his business again unless the action was in dire need.

However, his curiosity of his "partner's" project was undeniable, and the matter could be pressing later on. He could not just fund research without knowing what was being… researched. What if she was building a Dues Ex Machina programmed on wrenching the entire continent inside out? She was her father's daughter, after all. Yes, something had to be done, but right now he had more pressing matters to attend to.

He picked up his office phone and pressed one of the slender page buttons on the top of the machine. "Stacy, hi, oh, Gracie? Sorry, listen; I need you to make invitations… um, remember September fifteenth? Yeah, I need all of those, but I have a few more names I need you to add. Oh wait, Gracie? Do me a favor; don't invite the Hamilton's this time. Great, thanks."

* * *

It was noon when the letter arrived at Dr. Lee's inbox at one of Arkham's branch facilities. She was walking down the hall with a half empty mug of coffee in her hand when she saw the dainty envelope peeking out of the small cubby. Sipping on the lukewarm liquid, she slipped the envelope out of its holder and flipped it around so she could read the front. It simply stated her name in a careful curly italic font. Curious, she carried her tokens back to her office, consuming one while perusing the other. Safe behind her name-plated door, she set the mug down on an idle coaster and tore the sleeve of the envelope open with her thumb. The parchment inside was a creamy color, instead of the usual vivid white, with the same curlicue handwriting that had graced the front. Her eyes jumped back and forth across the page, skimming over the formal greeting to get to the core of the subject.

The letter, oddly enough, was from Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Industries, cordially inviting her to a social affair he was holding later that night at his mansion. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she picked up the envelope again. It was her name written on the front, but she had never been invited to one of these engagements before, and hadn't even met Mr. Wayne face-to-face, over the phone, or otherwise. Why did she suddenly exist now, after maybe eight or more of these events?

Dr. Lee shrugged the perplexing situation away as another one arose. She had nothing to wear…

* * *

Did Arkham's solitary cells normally not have beds in them, or did Jonathan Crane just somehow manage to draw the shortest straw? No, not drew. Dispensed upon. Forcefully. He racked his brain trying to remember the interior of another cell, but when he was a doctor, he never really cared to notice. He didn't think it would be useful to know. He didn't expect to find himself a resident. Who does?

It seemed Jonathan had become something of a connoisseur of disembodied footsteps, and the ones approaching him, the ones that belonged to one security guard and two nurses, one male, one female, were not happy. They were shuffling, stomping, and reluctant to do the task they were sent to do. They stopped outside his door, and whispers commenced that he could not form into tangible dialogue in his mind. He waited patiently while they argued—what else was he going to do? The trio outside finally consented to enter his quarters, all frowns and pouts and radiating anger. It was really bad for his feng shui.

"Stand up." The male nurse spat out, looming over Jonathan as if he could possibly be intimidating. Jonathan complied, his lanky form easily eclipsing the shorter nurse and forcing him to take a step back. That was how you impose.

"Can I help you?" Jonathan asked them like they had just barged into his house while he was having company over for dinner.

Interruption indeed.

The female nurse stepped up, "I suppose you'll be happy to know you have clearance for your jacket to be removed."

"I suppose I will," he replied, suppressing a delighted smile. He turned so the straps were exposed to them, and they began tugging on the buckles, not bothering to be gentle. Ah, such was the life of a criminal.

The jacket slid down his arms, and a sigh rolled heavily from his lungs as he let it crumple unceremoniously to the floor and he twisted his arms about, refreshing his muscles and shaking out the kinks. His elbows popped audibly as he reveled in his newfound freedom and mobility, however small it was.

He turned back to the nurses as he rolled his shoulders forwards and backwards. The male nurse bent to retrieve the straightjacket, sloppily attempting to fold it.

"If you like, you now have access to the break room," muttered the female nurse, whose nametag read Amy. He turned his head and caught the glimmer of the guy's nametag—George.

"Thanks, I'll follow you two there." Amy gave a half sneer and turned on her heel, her auburn ponytail swishing above her slender shoulders. The security guard stood aside as he held the door open for them, and Jonathan followed her out, George bringing up the rear.

It was incredibly admirable that Elizabeth had somehow managed to convince the overseer that he was composed enough to not need the restraints after only one session. His menace, after all, had always laid not in his physical threats, but the mental. Basically, without his mask and fear-inducing chemicals, he was merely a promise of torment, or foreshadow of chaos.

They came upon the break room, and he recognized some of the occupants, thinking, suddenly, this might not be a place he wanted to be. How many would remember him, after all?

He glanced around the room, eyes roaming over vacant souls silently occupying chairs clustered around scattered tables, staring out windows, at televisions, at nothing. The nurses left his side, and he walked around the room, ignoring stares that were enraptured, paranoid, enraged, and insane. He almost didn't belong here. His thoughts declared the "almost" before his mind could assent. Almost didn't, how did he almost fit in? Because he didn't think like the respected nobles of Gotham? Because he wasn't completely compassionate, because his actions were vaguely or not so vaguely sadistic, and everyone else disagreed? Everyone had always disagreed, he mused as he sat in an unoccupied chair before the television.

"Dr. Crane?" Jonathan turned his head to look at the patient that spoke his name. A man with ragged blond hair and a rather large over bite hovered over him, a disturbed gleam in his eye.

"Yes?"

The man held out his hand eagerly, and Jonathan shook it. "Jarvis Tetch. Dr. Jarvis Tetch."

"Sure," Jonathan replied, not believing for a moment that Mr. Tech was an actual doctor. Jarvis took a seat in a chair beside him, his movement jerky like an excited dog.

"You're the master of fear I heard so much about. I myself used to experiment with mind- control; using microchips I placed in hats. I always admired your study of the crippling effects of fear."

"Really? Why thank you."

"Before I was thrown in here, I went by the surname of MadHatter." He looked up as a nurse passed, and didn't begin speaking again until they were out of hearing range. "You know, with your abilities with chemicals, and my vast knowledge in technology, we could literally bring Gotham to its knees with fear."

Jonathan couldn't help but laugh, but quickly sobered when his saw Jarvis's serious face, "Oh, you're serious?"

* * *

LATER THAT NIGHT

Soft lights twinkled in time with the music, which almost seemed to dance only in their minds under the steady thrum of human voices. Bruce dismissed himself from the assemblage of people he was conversing with to greet Elizabeth, who wandered in through the doors, looking like she was feeling slightly out of place. He approached her as Alfred took the pale coat that matched her slender white dress off her shoulders, and disappeared to hang it up. She smiled up at him as he held out his hand to introduce himself formally.

"Bruce Wayne."

"Dr. Elizabeth Lee," she replied, taking his hand. A maid passed by with a tray of drinks perched on her shoulder, and Bruce swept two off, scanning the room for any sign of Talia, who had yet to show up. He turned back to Elizabeth and offered her one of the flutes of champagne, who took it graciously.

"How are you doing tonight?"

"I'm doing fine, thank you. And yourself?"

"A little bored, honestly."

Elizabeth chuckled, then looked above and beyond him at the banner that had been strung across the beams of the ceiling. She pointed at it, and Bruce followed her gaze. "Usually, the host of the charity event states what it is for."

Bruce turned back to Elizabeth, smiling, "Usually people don't care, unfortunately." He took a sip of champagne; "A… friend of mine is traveling to the Middle East sometime this year. She's… rebuilding a couple of sites, and needs financial aid."

"Is this… friend of yours here tonight?" she asked, pausing before the words "friend" like he had.

"Well, I hope she will be," he replied, eyes scanning the room again. Her eyes followed his trail curiously.

"Forgive me, but I've never been to one of these events before. What exactly is it you normally do here?"

"Basically anything you can imagine that is utterly and completely stodgy."

Elizabeth chuckled, "Well, you have the music. I'm sure a little dancing would make things a little less dull."

Bruce grinned at her, dispensing his glass on the edge of a nearby table. Alfred appeared out of nowhere to slip a coaster under the glass before it touched the surface. "So it shall. Care to partake in the herding of the sheep?"

"Why not?" She laughed, placing her glass on a napkin.

Bruce took her hand in his and led her to the large open space beyond the tables. The guests stared in wonderment and awe as the two twirled and swayed, before one after another slipped into the graceful flow of trend.

"May I cut in?" Bruce turned to find Talia, her dark hair melting into a dark, shimmering dress. Elizabeth slid out of his arms, stepping back.

"Of course."

Talia stepped in, and they glided back into the rhythm.

"Ms. al Ghul, I was almost afraid you were going to stand me up."

"I was busy setting up the fireworks I want you to watch with me later tonight."

"Fireworks?" The music stopped, and they stood still, their arms still entwined. "Really, you shouldn't have."

"Oh, it was the least I could do to thank you for funding my project."

"Really?" Bruce let her arms slide out of his, and led her out to the table that Elizabeth had retreated to. "Have you met Dr. Elizabeth Lee? Dr. Lee, this is Ms. Talia a—ah, Moore. I'm sure you two will get along, you'll have to excuse me for one moment, I need to tell Alfred to open six more bottles of champagne."

Bruce departed, weaving in and out of the crowds until he found Alfred, who was rubbing a water stain off of a table.

"Alfred, can we have a moment in the study?"

"Of course, Master Bruce, let me just…" he started scrubbing a little more vigorously, before Bruce caught his arm.

"Now, Alfred."

Alfred straightened, his stern eyes wider than usual. "Absolutely." They retired to the unoccupied study, where Bruce closed the door behind him to ensure their privacy.

"You remember Henri Ducard?"

"Burnt the mansion down? Why yes, I believe I do recall."

"His daughter is here."

"She doesn't plan on burning it down as well, does she?"

"I don't know, but she's up to something." He rubbed his forehead and opened a drawer to reveal a half- empty bottle of scotch.

"That's where you put it—."

"The thing is, she knows about the Bat cave." He said after a generous swallow of the dark liquid.

"She knows who you are, sir?"

"And I don't know how, unless her father told her the same night he…"

"You do have a plan, right?"

"I need you to just secure all entrances to the cave. I'd like to kick everyone out, but she's got a tight finger on a hairpin trigger. Did I mention there are bombs around the mansion?"

Alfred seemed to grow another wrinkle as his brow creased with worry. "I'm afraid not." He removed the bottle from Bruce's hand, guiding him to the door. "You go and appease the mistress. I'll do what I can to hold off whatever impending doom might apply to this evening."


	7. My Beautiful

Disclaimer: I only own Elizabeth Lee and henchman #2 (Henchman #1 got a better offer and more lines). The song belongs to Muse.

Chapter Seven: My Beautiful

* * *

She beckoned him to the dance floor, a temptress luring a hero to his doom. The music lifted them up, serene promises of vain fulfillment. Her eyes held forever in them, guarded by a sorrow that stretched out like a chasm between them.

_Lips are turning blue, a kiss that can't renew._

_I only dream of you, my beautiful._

Images blurred at the corners of his eyes, objects that just didn't matter while wrapped in this new universe, an embryo of forgotten sensations. What had passed between them that suddenly left him so lost for words? Nothing but a searing infestation of enchantment could bond him so close to an eternal question.

_Tiptoe to your room; a starlight in the gloom._

_I only dream of you, and you never knew._

The words were wrapping around his mind, her eyes shooting through him like an arrow of desolation, so cold, searching faithlessly for an impetuous flame. Her arms were resting like silken feathers on his arms, but nothing could act as an anchor with her touch.

_Sing for absolution,_

_I will be singing,_

_Falling from your grace._

He thought he had her figured out for the most part; he thought he knew so much. He had never looked her in the eyes. Until now. And swiftly meaning was falling away, like the floor was slipping from under his feet, and he was flying, soaring on the wings of ecstasy. What had happened? Why do some songs never make sense until you live them, for them, through them? First sight was supposed to be a myth…

_There's nowhere left to hide, in no one to confide._

_The truth runs deep inside, and will never die._

Falling had been so easy, but the reason was so complex. There was always why, but never an answer. Did he really need one? Or was it all within her, lurking deep inside, waiting to burst forth? For him. Did the reason why even matter? Here was here now, and he would follow.

_Lips are turning blue, a kiss that can't renew._

_I only dream of you, my beautiful._

She was turning in his arms, and he could do this forever, twirling about on the lips of vertigo. Whatever was out there could wait, and whatever was in him could hide. He wasn't afraid, he wasn't turning away, and he didn't have to. Was it so simple? Could it be so simple?

_Sing for absolution,_

_I will be singing,_

_Falling from your grace._

He thought he knew himself. Maybe he should look in the mirror, and look himself in the eye. He didn't know so much, after all.

* * *

Back into the box. Back into the cell of purity and emptiness that wrapped itself around him, and vowed never to let go. It expanded and enclosed, a vortex unto itself. He couldn't escape this blinding white that stretched forever outward to nothing. He wanted to see the sun. He still remembered those days vividly, the small backyard playground that housed tormented souls and taunted low self esteems. Where everything began. He used to shield his eyes from that harsh light, cursing it to be gone, to discontinue its descent into his soul. Now he wanted it more than anything. This light was far harsher, in its own, meticulously straining way. It was sterile, artificial, and empty. When she came, he almost remembered the light of day. It fell like golden arcs around her shoulders, gleaming with unwearied glory. The sun would burn him if he came too close; after all, he was only sticks and straw. But wouldn't it be a scintillating surrender?

_Our wrongs remain unrectified,_

_And our souls won't be exhumed._


	8. Fireworks and Firefights

Disclaimer: Here's where henchman #2 comes in. But ownership hasn't changed. Sigh.

Chapter Eight: "Fireworks and Firefights"

* * *

The music stopped, and he was grounded. The spinning dwindled down, and his thoughts leaked back into his mind, his senses refocusing sharply to compensate for his lack of foresight. There was a popping sound, and Bruce turned his head to watch a waiter uncork a bottle of champagne.

"Mm, you're quite a lovely dancer, Mr. Wayne." Bruce turned back to Talia, as if seeing her for the very first time. Another song had begun, but he had had enough. He turned away from her, but she caught his arm before he could walk off. "Don't leave now, this is my favorite song."

"I'm sorry, Ms. al Ghul, but I think I need a rest."

"Please, Bruce. One more dance," it was his name that caught his attention, and he turned to peer into intensely pleading eyes. He couldn't say no.

As she pulled his arms back around her slim waist, his vision shot out across the crowd and he found Alfred, waiting at the edge of the room, his eyes and ears when his hands were full. Like now…

Alfred nodded and disappeared, apparently seeing something in Bruce's eyes that he hadn't been aware of communicating. What had he seen? Fear? Talia began moving, and he turned again to focus on the steps. He expected to be swept off into never land again, but this time felt nothing. What had happened? The music and steps this time were dull and necessary, like he was committing himself to chore work, nothing like the unnerving euphoric dream he had experienced earlier.

"Have you planned something special for this evening?" He asked her, his low voice rumbling underneath the melody.

"You mean besides the fireworks?" she murmured, and then said no more. There was a thoughtful crease between her brows, and Bruce knew she was hiding something. He sighed and stopped dancing, withdrawing himself from her arms, and she let him.

"I can't stop you from hating me. But I will stop you from putting these people in danger."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you care, what with you're night job," she ranted, her arms crossed over her chest. "But sometimes I wonder if you fight in vain within yourself more than you fight your enemies."

"How did this predicament develop in your mind?" He wondered aloud, slightly perturbed that she could read so far into him when he couldn't even figure her out.

"You act so callous to your peers sometimes," she pointed out as if it had been so obvious, "but then you turn around and become the ultimate vigilante. Do you really care, or are you just desperately searching for appreciation from a family you lost?" She stepped in close to him, her hand extending to benevolently caress his cheek. "How did I find a piece of my soul within you?"

Bruce caught her hand and gripped it tight, like her touch had burned him far more than it truly had. "You tread this path far too lightly, there are things inside you couldn't begin to imagine."

Talia took back her hand; face pained "You are not an island, though you may wish it."

Bruce turned to walk away, and this time Talia did not grab his arm. As he retreated he responded over his shoulder, "You have no idea what I wish."

Though part of me wishes you did.

Elizabeth stood up from the table she had been sitting at to confer with Bruce as he approached her. She looked worried, as if she had sensed the tension that fell from his shoulders like stardust.

But that wasn't it.

"Mr. Wayne, I may be over reacting, but I felt some tremors underneath the floorboards, and--." Bruce whirled around to search the spot he had left Talia, but the lady was gone.

"I've got to go." He disappeared into the throng, leaving Elizabeth standing alone and abashed.

* * *

Alfred pressed the compound of notes on the glossy keys of the baby grand piano that had replaced the antique they had lost in the fire. The mechanism slid the bookshelf open and he darted through before it closed behind him automatically. He found himself in a hidden compartment used for stocking various alcohols, a detour for anyone who deduced the harmonic pattern that unlocked the door. He reached into the cobwebs on the shelf to his right, wincing as the sticky strands wrapped around his fingers. He knocked over a half empty bottle that remained unlabeled and questionable looking, revealing a recess in the woodwork. Alfred applied pressure, and the shelf before him split apart, revealing a sleek silver elevator door. When they had rebuilt the mansion, they enhanced many things, and the old rickety mining shaft had been one of the first things to go. Mustn't risk that decay-ridden rope giving out and leaving its passenger to depend on the failure of gravity.

He pressed the standard issue elevator button on the side panel, and the doors opened with a pleasant ping. Once inside, he hit the bottom button. There was a secret wall on each floor that allowed the elevator to attend. Soft music began playing as it made it stomach lurching descent. That had been his idea.

The elevator came to a stop shortly, and the doors whirred open to reveal darkness and a brush of cold, damp air. His footsteps sounded crunchy and slightly wet as he explored the gloomy lair, pulling a small flashlight out of his pocket and sweeping it around probingly. There were lights strung along the ceiling of the cave, the switches lurking by the elevator and close to the waterfall, but he didn't want to make his approach too obvious just yet if there were intruders. He could hear something further into the cave, like a mechanic had decided to drop in to make sure all appliances were ship-shape, so to speak. He clicked the flashlight off and carefully made his way to the stranger's source of light that hovered like a wraith over the behemoth of the batmobile.

There were several of them, crowding around the black exterior, their hands working furiously at the contraption. Were they taking it apart? Alfred stepped closer, his attention engulfed in their actions, but his foot caught on a rough patch and he lost his balance, tearing towards the ground like Goliath. A cry of alarm and pain escaped his lungs, and the men of Shadows paused at their task and turned to look at him. The sudden lack of the clamoring of their tools left an awkward silence as they stared at each other, one party waiting for the bullets to start flying, and one party wondering who the hell was this guy?

Unfortunately for Alfred, he could have been a harmless butterfly and it still wouldn't have made a difference to the trigger-happy honcho of the pack, it only made his being human more fun. The man came forward and pulled a gun that had been hanging over his form by a strap, aiming it at Alfred. Ra's choice of weapon had been the sword, but apparently his daughter's taste ran to a different sort of threatening. Alfred jumped back onto his feet and dashed for the cover of the plentiful convenience of a rocky sanctuary as the bullets began racing towards his bearings. The bullets backfired off the pile of stone he had placed at his back, and he hovered over himself, cradling his head in between his knees, protecting his ears from the rampage with his palms. The bullets were ripping into the cave wall, and he could feel the rock shift at his back as it fractured and tumbled in on itself in a miniature landslide. As his shelter shattered, he took leave of it, sprinting across the dark cavern as the bullets rained harshly at his heels. Good thing the ratio of hitting a moving object was ten to one.

A figure emerged from the flicker of light where he had entered as the elevator dispensed a new occupant into the fray. A commanding voice rebounded off the structures, echoing into the darkest corners.

"Hold your fire!"

Talia stomped towards her comrades, her heels clacking confidently on the unreliable foundation. Her hand arced through the air and collided with the shooters face, who stumbled backwards into the outstretched hands of his buddies.

"Idiot!" She hissed, "Are you unaware that there is a room full of people above your heads?"

"No one will hear us! The rock is too thick," he argued. She hit him again, and he slumped to the ground, cradling his bruised and possibly broken face. If the cheekbone had splintered and pierced his eye, he could go blind. Arguing would never be satisfying again. Talia stepped away from the sullen figure, examining the computer systems that lay nearly completed and riddled with newly acquired holes.

"Batman's got himself quite a setup down here," she speculated, opening the slim purse that hung from her shoulder and pulling out a grenade, "All that work for nothing. But I'm sure with his money he'll have it up again in no time."

"Talia, stop!" Batman appeared from the shadows, his trademark entrance, his cape fluttering behind him as he glided towards her.

"I've got a confession to make, Bruce," she announced, her voice almost regretful, "I planned on taking your money tonight, destroying your mansion and its occupants despite my word of camaraderie."

"So I've realized."

Talia shook her head, "I don't want to do it."

"Then don't."

"It's not that easy," she laughed.

"Isn't it? Put down the grenade. Walk away. Seems pretty simple to me."

"I can't forget about what you've done, and I can't walk away without avenging my father. I wouldn't expect you to understand." Batman fumed, her last taunt hitting dangerously below the belt. His fists clenched at his sides, but Talia continued, "You and I could be something together."

"I don't think we're going in the right direction to do anything together."

Talia chuckled, low and sensual, "Oh, you're wrong about that." She looked down at the grenade, frowning, "I have to admit, I'm completely and utterly torn."

Batman closed the distance between them, his hand hovering over her hand that held the grenade. "Don't do something you'll regret."

She looked up at him, her eyes glittering with unshed tears of frustration. "Either way I'll regret it. Save me from that, caped crusader."

"I can't save everyone from everything. This is a decision you'll have to make yourself. I'll deal with whatever you choose to be right."

"Why won't you join us?" She asked in a hoarse whisper.

"My place is here." Was she faking? Maybe it was just the saint in him, but she was really convincing. Yet if she was looking for someone to melt like butter in the palm of her hand, she was going to have to find a different hero. Perhaps someone who wore bright colors and tights, if there were any.

Talia nodded her understanding, standing on tiptoe to place a soft kiss on his lips. She took his hand and turned the palm so that it faced up, and dispensed the grenade in it.

"Maybe not this time, Batman. I'll wait for a night when my resolve is not so weak." She sniffed. "Perhaps next time I won't have so much champagne."

"Apparently, you'll know where to find me."

She smiled forlornly. "It wasn't really that difficult. If only killing you were the same." She turned and walked to the waterfall, her men falling in step behind her. Before she disappeared behind the cataract, she turned back for a final farewell. "If you ever change your mind…"

"Same to you."

She smiled and shook her head, departing. Alfred stood from the safety of the rubble, dusting off his soiled jacket. "What just happened, Master Bruce?"

"Hell if I know," Batman shrugged. He crouched down near the batmobile, inspecting the damage. Alfred paused behind him, surveying over his shoulder.

"What were they doing?"

"Stealing parts, it looks like. Shame to put such a nice thing to waste if they had decided to blow up the place, I guess."

"You will be able to fix it, I presume."

"Fix it, replace it, whatever." There was a distant whizzing sound, which separated into popping and crackling. The fireworks had started.

Alfred stared up at the ceiling of the cave, as if he could see through the many layers of rock. "Sounds like the fun has begun. Will you be joining them?"

Bruce sighed, removing the cowl and running his fingers through his black hair, "I don't know, Alfred. Suddenly I'm not in a celebrating mood."

"Who was that lady?"

Bruce continued to crouch down, trifling with a forgotten tool, silent for a few moments as he realized, truly, he didn't really know. How long had he known her but for one day that, somehow, felt like an eternity? "I don't know. I really don't know."

"How odd, you two looked like you were close."

He hit his palm with the tool thoughtfully, "Yeah, I think we were."

"Hmm." Alfred crouched down next to Bruce, rubbing his shoulder with a hand, "Losing a friend is always hard, or in this case, an almost friend that you almost lost but they weren't really a friend because they were an enemy…"

"You stopped making sense after… well, actually, I don't think you started that sentence making sense."

"It's been an odd day for all of us," Alfred chuckled, pushing off his knees into a standing position. "I think the best thing you could do to end it would be to go up there and see off your guests as Bruce Wayne."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Bruce agreed, standing as well. "I'll just, uh… get changed."

* * *

Elizabeth joined the other guests as they ventured outside, watching as the colorful sparks lit up the night sky. The guests oohed and awed as one after another display streaked into the air like a fiery comet, exploding far above their heads to shower down in a myriad of color. The fireworks were beautiful, but they weren't amazing. Despite the wonder that seemed to arise in everyone else standing witness, Elizabeth felt nothing. They were just lights. Was it okay that she felt empty as she looked on? Shouldn't she know?

Bruce came up behind her, his hands in his pockets, looking up at the light show with the same empty expression. She looked up at him, and then back at the works. "What happened to your lady friend?"

"She had to leave early to attend to another matter."

Elizabeth nodded, and they stood for several minutes in silence, before Bruce finally broke it. "I heard you had taken in Jonathan Crane as your patient. I was wondering; how is that going?"

"Um…" Elizabeth bit her lip, looking for adequate dialog to portray her progress. It wasn't a subject she enjoyed conversing about. "Well, slowly. But these things take time."

"What made you decide to take him as a patient?"

"Many reasons."

"Any personal?"

"Of course not," Elizabeth shook her head a little too rapidly, Bruce noticed. "I just wanted to help."

"I want you to take care, he's a dangerous man. The main reason most people stay away from him is the fact that he's capable of drastic persuasion."

"I'm aware of that," she countered. "You know an awful lot about him for a billionaire industrialist."

"Hey, I read the Gotham Times."

"Right. But the fact that he used to be a psychiatrist himself makes it harder than anything else."

"I hope you succeed in your endeavors. Saving a soul may not be as reputable as saving lives, but it achieves so much more."

"Thank you." It was a little odd; gossip had given Bruce an image nearly the opposite of profound, yet here he was, spouting rather deep advice. Perhaps jealousy reared immoral traits in the opponent. How many people actually tried to get to know Bruce Wayne? How many people actually cared that the head of Wayne Industries was an actual person? People were often too caught up in their own worries and vanity to care about looking slightly humane, or even, gasp, humble. Selfishness was a trait that she often found herself too busy to try to cure, but one does what one can. "Tonight was pleasant."

"I'm only sorry I didn't know you sooner."

"I'm still a little unsure how you did know me. Was it because a certain new patient of mine threw me into infamy?"

"Well, I have to be honest. Yes."

Elizabeth smiled, "Goodnight Mr. Wayne."

"Goodnight Dr. Lee."

Bruce watched as Elizabeth took her leave, winding her way through strands of guests who were making their way to him to give him their thanks and goodbyes. Well, here we go, he thought to himself with a practiced smile.


	9. Harley's Secret

Disclaimer: I don't own Mojo, Kim, or Helen Smith (but I may have given them last names. I can't remember. Let's assume I did not.) I also do not own Lock-up, Harlene Quinzelle, or anyone else that I've already disowned a dozen times.

Chapter Nine: "Harley's Secret"

* * *

FRIDAY OF THE FIRST WEEK

Three weeks seemed like a long time, but in one week Elizabeth had had only one session with Mr. Crane, and it hadn't really gone anywhere useful. To make matters worse, in exchange for a J. Crane's jacket to be removed, Arkham's officials were formally requesting future sessions to be kept in the surveyed offices on Arkham's grounds. It was difficult enough to get an unwilling patient to open up when the files were confidential, how was she supposed to get him to open up if he knew his conversations were being recorded? Someone in the system knew, and they didn't want to let Jonathan go. Go figure, another keenly cautious individual reluctant to have a dangerous criminal back on the streets. If she hadn't been in the position she was currently in, she would have most likely agreed. But damn if she was just going to sit by and allow them to twist the predicament to fit their own paranoid little worlds while Katie suffered.

Elizabeth was collecting files and slipping them into her shoulder pack for a session she was having with Jonathan later on in the day when a rapid tapping sounded on her office door. She stopped organizing the folders and stood up straight, smoothing the creases out of her skirt.

"Come in."

A slender young woman bounced into the office, her cheeks rosy and her face beaming with optimism. Her blond hair sprung slightly from either side of her head as her skipping lifted her pigtails up and down. Harlene Quinzelle was often sweet and chipper, but this was almost "look at the size of this rock" happiness.

"Hi!"

"Hey, Harlene. Are you going to tell me why you're so happy, or am I just not invited to the wedding?"

Harlene gripped the back of a chair, jittery with excitement. No one would ever call Harley a pessimist. "Ah met someone!"

"That's wonderful, Hal. What's he like?

"Dreamy. Oh, I've never met anyone like him. He's witty, charming, and so funny. It's like he opened mah eyes to a whole 'nother world." She fanned herself with a hand and sighed dramatically. "It's just like Aladdin and his carpet ride."

Elizabeth chuckled, "What's his name?"

"Jack Napier. And ah know yer goin' tah be totally ashamed of meh, but he's a patient of mahn."

"Oh..." Elizabeth responded, falling silent. Elizabeth always tried to keep an open mind; she couldn't judge him if she didn't know him. Besides, love had many forms, it showed up in the strangest places, but haw safe was an emotionally and/ or mentally unstable man?

"You think ahm crazy, dontcha?"

"Er... not compared to him, I'm sure."

"Oh, Liz, you jes have tah meet 'im. Ahm sure you'll like 'im if you get tah know 'im."

"Your right, Hal. I'm being unreasonably judgemental"

Her ass.

"He calls me Harley. Isn't that cute?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Elizabeth tried to sound supportive, but worry tugged at her gut, and she couldn't place it. She didn't know him, but she still didn't think it was a good idea.

"Well listen, I gotta go, I jes had tah tell ya." She waved and bounced out the door, blowing her a kiss as she closed it behind her.

So that was that. Harley was in a possibly volatile relationship, and Elizabeth couldn't move to prevent it. That would be terribly presumptuous of her; what right did she have? Still she worried about her friend. She had met plenty of patients who were good people, but even good people who could not always justify or control what they did could not nurse a fruitful relationship. A seemingly harmless illness like seeing people that the person could choose to ignore even had dangerous repercussions, and the medicine that cured them so often left them hollow and empty inside.

She was a doctor. And she had seen A Beautiful Mind.

She wouldn't say anything, but she would pray for the best.

* * *

No one would ever guess that beneath that cheerful disposition lied a dark, thrumming misconception. Harley had always tried to hide the things she questioned most behind smiles, and until recently, had been able to occupy her mind and drown out the confusing whirlpool of emotions that tried to focus her intentions. She knew the difference between right and wrong, always had, and had for many years attempted to keep her kind heart untouched from the shadows that lurked in her unconscious thoughts.

The last thing she ever wanted to become was a criminal, yet here she was falling for a shady character that just happened to be an ex-mob member. But having affairs, or even a relationship with him didn't mean she had to become one or that she had to break any laws as well, right? She was who she made herself, not who someone else expected her to be.

There would be that temptation, undoubtedly. The question was when the time came, could she stand for herself and do the right thing, or would what she perceived as love drown out her strongest voice of reason?

Leaning on the door to Elizabeth's office, Harlene sighed and held her head in a hand, brushing the blond strands of hair off of her forehead. She dropped her hand and leaned her head back to rest on the panel with another loud exhale. Her yellow hair fluttered back into position, dancing across her skin as they found their places. She slipped her hand into her handbag, running her fingers along the fabric she had stashed in there. Shadows fell across red spandex, and as her fingers collided with the material, two small bells attached jingled lightly in reply.

She pulled it free of her purse, stretching it out between her hands until she could see the eye holes in the red and black mask. What was this? What was this really? An escape? An alter-ego? Was it a cry for help or a cry for attention? Was she doing this for a why or a who?

She did love him. Three days and she knew already that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. This wasn't just infatuation, was it? For the first time in her life, standing with him, she no longer felt lost, she felt understood. She felt real happiness, not the lie she told herself every morning when she woke up. With him, she didn't have to lie to herself, and for her, that was love.

So many different people had so many different opinions about what love should be, when it really was only what you made it. She knew that the majority of the people she knew would argue that three days was most certainly not love, but that didn't matter. She was happy, that was what mattered. And why shouldn't it?

She shoved the mask back into her purse, still unsure of the meaning of it all, but pushing it from her mind. She pushed herself off the door, making her way down the hall, the heels off her shoes squeaking slightly on the plush carpet. Mr. J, when not in sessions with her, claimed to be extremely busy. With what, he wouldn't tell her, just that it was "a surprise." Surely he would be finished with whatever it was soon, and would have more time to spend with her. She never questioned the legality of his "projects", just as she hoped she would never have to come to question him. She hadn't had a lot of relationships in her lifetime, maybe two that had lasted only a week or two, if you could call them real relationships, and all she wanted was the ability to love him unconditionally. She really hoped hopelessness hadn't ruined her chance for love by misconstruing her ideas.

* * *

At ten on an October morning, most children's bedrooms were as empty as a summer schoolyard, but the bedroom of Kim Smith, ten year old child of single mother Helen Smith, only looked empty of life.

There was a deep impression on the side of Kim's bed, and if a passerby missed that, they certainly wouldn't miss the small doll that suddenly picked itself off the pillow and hovered in the air, the small indents of fingers in its plush sides certainly gone unnoticed next to this strange phenomenon. There were no strings connecting this doll to an unseen puppeteer, just the man and his doll, but only the doll without the sunlight to fall around his shoulders.

Mojo cradled the doll in his arms, the closest thing he could get to his precious angel, but nowhere near as close to her warmth. With the Invisibility Cloak on, he couldn't see the way the doll's hair fell across his arms, but it didn't matter. If it were the only way he could be near her then he could deal with the consequences of the way the unnatural atmosphere made him feel.

Just to be near her...

He couldn't understand Helen. Could she not understand him? It wasn't so difficult. Take whatever she would feel if deprived of Kim and multiply it by three. That was all he felt. That was all. And nothing he had ever done in his past could ever be as horrible as the pain she had inflicted on him, but she couldn't see that. Wouldn't see that. Nothing like a double standard; it seemed he had been surrounded by them his whole life, and now looking back on it, compared to what he felt now it had been nothing if not tolerable.

It seemed he had been gone from this room, from her, for a lifetime, though it had in reality been a mere two months. His pockets were filled with necklaces and jewels; he wanted to give her everything– too bad Helen would never see how good he was for her.

The front door of the house opened and closed, and a pair of muffled voices broke the brooding silence he had been sitting in. He stood up, dropping the doll and stumbling to find a hiding place before remembering he was invisible. Forces of habit so easily took over something so hard to forget. He listened as the voices came closer; Helen was telling Kim to lie down for a little while, maybe she would feel better and perhaps she would cook some soup. The door to the bedroom opened and Katie walked in, eyes watery over a small pout, her skin looking pale and dewy. Helen followed, face overcast with pity and worry. Kim climbed into her bed with a small groan, and Helen paused along the way, leaning over to pick up the doll that Mojo had discarded. He had to shift out of the way, and the fabric whispered as it brushed against itself. Helen gasped and looked up, her breath in her throat. Seeing nothing, she swallowed her heartbeat and turned back to Kim, doll in hand.

What's wrong Helen? Someone might think you had an experience with a ghost.

Once Helen was gone, Mojo sat on the bed again, looking down on the ill Kim.

"Kimmy, what's wrong?"

Kim's eyes slit open, and she smiled at the familiar voice, "Mojo? Is that you?"

"I told you I would be back. I'm sorry I was gone for so long. Are you feeling ill?"

She nodded, grimacing, "It's just a tummy ache. Probably something I ate."

"Well, I got you something that might make you feel better..." Mojo dug through his pockets, drawing out a gold heart locket with a diamond in the middle. It seemed to dangle in the air from his unseen hand, catching and reflecting the light like a gift from paradise. A heavenly object for a heavenly girl. She deserved more.

"It's beautiful." She sighed, extending her hand to touch it. He slipped the chain through her fingers, being careful not to make contact with her, though he so desperately wanted to. Sometimes it was harder to see her and not hold her than not seeing her at all. Sometimes, but that didn't mean he would trade it.

"It's yours."

* * *

"There you go again, talking about fear like it was our only emotion." Elizabeth had only just recently met Jonathan in one of the small Arkham offices that strangely resembled their cells, and already they had a subject to focus on that had already been covered. Surprise, surprise.

"I never said it was our only emotion." Jonathan argued lightly, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair and waving a hand.

"Maybe not, but you certainly emphasize it as our strongest. But no emotion is stronger than another. It would throw us into a chaotic imbalance."

"And you don't think this world is just a little chaotic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively at her.

"Not as much as it could be, no." Elizabeth leaned forward, chin resting on clasped hands. "You know, Mr. Crane, bravery is another emotion. And I do believe it is bravery that overcomes fear."

"Just as fear could overcome bravery."

"But what if it were something that you cared for on the other side of theat fear? For some things, when threatened, fear does not even fare as an obstacle."

"You speak from personal experience?"

"Yeah, I do. I think perhaps you spent to much time studying one emotion that you failed to discover the strength of the others."

* * *

"Thank you for calling the offices of Dr. Lee, Dr. Thompson, and Dr. Quinzelle. How may I help you?"

"Um, hello, I'm calling to make an appointment with an available doctor, um, for my daughter."

"Can you tell me what the problems are?"

"Well, sometimes I hear her talking to herself. At first I thought it was just an imaginary friend, and it was normal for a child her age, but Kim has every belief that this thing is completely real. This has been going on for years."

"I thank you for calling. Can I get your name and phone number please?"

"Yes. It's Helen Smith at 290-7711."

"Thank you Ms. Smith. I'll contact you for an appointment as soon as possible."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Out of the jacket and into the ball and chain. That's what it seems like to me. What are they expecting me to say? Do they want proof that you're actually attempting to cure me?"

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as she warded off a promising headache. It wasn't just the company she kept, was it? Or maybe it was the rapidly fleeting vision of hope she desperately held to in her gut. She couldn't answer his question. She couldn't answer her own. What was she doing? "Probably. Let's appease them, shall we? Okay, I'll tell you what I see, so you tell me what you see. How about that?"

"I could just lie."

"You could."

"And you're just fine with that?"

Elizabeth sighed, "Don't ask stupid questions, Crane. I know you're capable of more intelligent speech." She held up a card with an inkblot sprawled across it and looked down at it. "I see a butterfly." She looked up, and Jonathan simply stared at her. "No laughter? I didn't hurt your feelings just then, did I?"

"Why should I be laughing? A butterfly symbolizes rebirth. Truthfully, I had been half expecting it."

Elizabeth smiled, "I have to apologize. Sometimes I forget you were a psychiatrist."

"Don't blame yourself. I was far too busy weaponizing chemicals to be a real doctor. I haven't done something like this with a patient in years." This little game was almost refreshing, and slightly nostalgic. Being in such familiar settings, he almost missed the way things were, however short they had lasted before fame burned away into infamy.

"Your turn." She said, flipping the card around.

"Where you see rebirth in that picture, I only see death." He said, face impassive, as if he didn't care one way or the other. "I see a bat."

"Very interesting. And this one?"

"I'd like your opinion first." Jonathan said with a coy smile. He hadn't been lying about what he had seen in the cards; though the thought had crossed his mind, his curiousness was overbearing.

"Fine, but if you contradict me again, I'm switching the order."

"Yes doctor."

"I see... a child." Elizabeth murmured, biting her lip thoughtfully.

"A child without a mother could possibly mean you want to be a mother, or you already are, and you worry about the well-being of them."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just analyze me." She glared at him, but he just laughed.

"Oh come on, Dr. Lee. Humor me with a little game of quid pro quo. It will be nearly painless, I promise."

Elizabeth shook her head, smiling softly. "Do it silently in your mind. I don't want to hear it."

"You might learn something useful."

"Oh, right, like anything I'm telling you is news."

"So which is it?" he asked, ignoring her, "Want a child, or have one already?"

"That's not something you really need to know."

"You don't seem like the type of person to favor tawdry romance, yet I see no ring on your left finger," he continued, once again ignoring her as if she were a mute. "Perhaps as a psychiatrist in a hectically lunatic city you don't have time for a child, though that doesn't mean you can't want one."

"That's enough."

"But I think the most probable reason is you just haven't found the right person to share a family with, female or otherwise."

"Mr. Crane..." Elizabeth's voice dropped an octave with anger.

"I really think you should let that picky little ice cube in your chest melt a little, doctor. After all, beggars can't be choosers, and one week in college doesn't count as a love life–."

Elizabeth slammed her fist on the table in anger and exasperation, sending the ink splattered cards flying in every direction. Jonathan had jumped slightly in surprise, but now he regained his composure, a coy smile creeping across his face like the ink on the cards.

"Careful doctor, you don't want the security guards to think your violent towards your patients. We both know how that pans out. Maybe we can play a round of bad cop and robber somewhere else some other time. This isn't the place, don't you think?"

"You're despicable."

"You're predictable."

"And you're not? We all know what to expect from you. Can't you prove them wrong just this once? I know you don't want to stay in here."

"Though maybe I should; then I wouldn't be so predictable."

"You're in–." Elizabeth stopped, letting her words trail off into the air; unspoken, but not unknown.

Jonathan laughed. "Oh, just say it! I'm insane! So fucking, predictably insane!"

"Shut up."

"Afraid of the truth? Is that why you don't want to hear it? Is that why you don't like hearing me talk?"

"I never said I didn't like hearing you talk. It's just that your bullshit is giving me a headache."

"Yeah. That must be it," he hissed sarcastically.

One of the cards had flown into Jonathan's lap when they scattered around both of them after Elizabeth's assault on the table. He left it where it lay, moving neither to steady its unstable position, or to knock it off his knee, thus helping its descent to the floor. On the other side of the table, Elizabeth sighed and collected the white and black parchments, stacking them into a pile on the table, and then bending over in her chair to collect the one's off the floor around her. While her head was down, he leaned over and snatched her pen that she had hooked to a purple spiral notebook. He retracted his hand as her head came back up, but she didn't notice his movement, as her hair had fallen into her eyes. She shook her head so they cleared a way for her vision, and added the cards she had recently collected to the original stack. There were still a few around Jonathan's feet, but she wasn't bothering. They weren't that important.

She looked over at him, but he merely blinked at her. "Where were we?" she asked.

"Somewhere pointless, I'm sure."

Elizabeth smiled, "What do you think will get you out of here the fastest?"

"Oh, now you ask me my opinion?"

"Well, do you have one?" she asked, raising one eyebrow in question.

Jonathan closed his hand around the card and pen and rolled his shoulders, cocking his head to one side and staring at the ceiling in thought. His shoulders were still sore. Underneath the table, his fingers closed around the pen, and while he stared at the ceiling, he began writing on the white side of the card.

When Jonathan didn't answer her, Elizabeth sighed and looked to the far wall, although there was really nothing to look at there. What to do? What to do? "Hmm..."

Jonathan had finished writing, and he folded up the card and balled it into his fist. Elizabeth slid her notebook closer to herself, and the metal spirals on its side scraped against the surface of the table. She opened it up and moved to grab her pen, only to find nothing there but copper circlets. Her brow furrowed with perplexity, and Jonathan had to fight not to chuckle, and give himself away. Elizabeth rubbed her forehead, and then leaned over once more to pull another pen out of her shoulder bag. Jonathan decided against slipping the pen back into its place while she had her head turned. That would be childish. Funny as hell to see the expression on her face, but childish. Suddenly he was so easily amused. Had he sunk so low?

Elizabeth began doing some writing of her own, and Jonathan leaned forward to watch.

"What are you writing?"

"The outcome of our session."

"Unfruitful."

"Mostly," she agreed.

"How much time do we have left?"

Elizabeth stopped writing to check her watch. "About five minutes."

"When is our next session?"

"Monday. Same time." She began writing again.

Jonathan leaned back again, crossing his leg so that his ankle fell on his knee. "Are we going to be doing this every weekday? You must have a lot of time on your hands."

"Something like that."

She's not going to give anything away; he noted, not here, at any rate.

Elizabeth finished writing and flipped the notebook closed, hooking her spare pen into the spiral like her old one had been stashed. She took a rubber band from around her wrist and picked up her accumulation of cards, stretching the band around the thick mass. Silently, Jonathan bent and retrieved the cards she had missed, or rather, hadn't bothered with. He aligned them neatly and hand them to her, who thanked him quietly and slipped them into place. She then stored the compilation in her bag; it was nearly time to go.

And he would miss her. It surprised him, but she was incredibly intriguing to him. If it had not been for the given circumstances, they might have been friends. He enjoyed their conversations, however argumentative some might be. The way their ideals clashed was thought provoking, like he was in debate club all over again. He wondered if she felt the same way, but it was probably too much to ask; he had witnessed her earlier reaction. Of course, he might have gotten carried away with his irritating antagonism.

Jonathan stood as she collected her things, making his way around the table to intercept her. He grasped her shoulder bag before she could reach down for it, and she looked up at him in alarm.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Can't a boy carry a girl's books?"

Elizabeth stared at him. Well, wasn't that cute? Not. Was he actually referring her to a naive little schoolgirl starstruck before her very first crush? "Not when the boy is conniving and manipulative."

"That's not very nice, Dr. Lee. I don't plan on dumping everything into the hallway, if that's what you're expecting."

"I don't really know what to expect from you," she answered. "Besides, I don't think we have the same destination."

"Then I'll carry it as far as I can."

Elizabeth shrugged, surrendering. Why not? "Suit yourself."

Jonathan fell into step behind Elizabeth on their way to the door, only a few steps from the table, but that was all the time he needed. He dispensed the crumpled mess of paper he had been hoarding in his hand into the front pocket casually, as Elizabeth opened the door. Two security guards stood on the other side, Mr. Morgan, the veteran security guard, and Lock-up, which was the nickname the new security guard had quickly gained. He hadn't been there long enough for Jonathan to find out why it was his nickname, which was fine with him; he wasn't too sure he wanted to know.

Once outside the door, Lock-up grabbed Jonathan shoulders roughly, yanking him away from Elizabeth's side. He slipped the shoulder bag off of Jonathan's shoulder and returned it to Elizabeth.

"Time to go back to your little room of hell, Crane." he growled, squeezing his shoulder so hard that it became painful.

Jonathan grimaced, "It's only hell if you're bunking with me."

"What was that?" Lock-up demanded, clutching a handful of a frothy mass of black curls and yanking his head back so he could see his face. Despite Jonathan's lanky form, Lock-up was still a head taller. Jonathan yelled in pain.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth protested, "This treatment is completely uncalled for!"

"What are you going to do?" he growled, "Stick up for this loser? Report me to the authorities?"

"I might!" Lock-up glared at her, but released Jonathan, who stumbled away from him. He and his big mouth. He looked at Elizabeth, who was staring at him with concern. He sneered and looked away. He didn't want her to think he actually needed her pity, because unless her pity was actually giving Lock-up brain tumors, or maybe an ulcer, it wasn't doing him much good. He didn't welcome the feeling in her eyes that seemed to lead to the fact that he was being demoralized in front of her... or anybody...

"I don't understand how you could protect the monsters." Lock-up spat.

Elizabeth turned back to him, "You don't see me protecting you." Quickly, Mr. Morgan stepped between them, taking Jonathan by an elbow.

"Thank you for stopping by, Dr. Lee." He guided Jonathan down the hall, and Lock-up followed, throwing Elizabeth one last dirty look. Elizabeth didn't want to leave Jonathan alone with the towering brute, but there was nothing she could do. Complaining was pointless, she assumed. Sure, they might take her word, but they would probably want to see some bruises before action was taken. Innocent until proven guilty; Elizabeth didn't want it to come to that.

* * *

Bruce was brooding again, Alfred observed, removing the untouched tray that had, balancing on top of it, a bowl of onion soup that had long since gone cold. Granted, hardly anything stayed warm for long in the chilly depths of the bat cave, but the billionaire hadn't even so much as glanced at the food when Alfred had first set it down. In fact, it almost seemed as if Bruce were avoiding him altogether. Had he done something to insult him? Alfred didn't understand it. Playboys. Deep down Alfred had always been afraid that his upbringing of Bruce would have no affect on the deeply engraved spoiled nature. He was no match for rich relatives.

Alfred was on his way back to the elevator when he decided he couldn't stand anymore of Bruce's moodiness. He bent over and set the tray on the ground none too lightly and turned to look at Bruce, who still had the back of his chair turned to face Alfred, his elbow propped on the desk carved out of the rock, his chin resting in his palm as if he hadn't heard anything at all. A single screen was lit among the crowd of monitors, but still wasn't working properly.

"Master Bruce, if I may inquire–." He noticed Bruce's shoulders tense as Alfred began talking, and that made him angry. "Bruce, are you ill?" he asked stiffly, no trace of concern in his voice. Bruce mumbled something into his hand, and Alfred came closer to hear it.

"What was that?"

Bruce simply shook his head; Alfred crossed his arms.

"I will not be ignored."

"I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Now, mind telling me why you were skulking?"

"No," Bruce turned to Alfred, the chair he was sitting in swiveling around to accommodate his view, "I mean, I'm really sorry. About all of this." He swept his hand as if taking a panoramic picture of the cave. Alfred looked around. There were still bullet holes in the rock walls, but everything else had been cleaned up.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"I had no right sending you down here to substitute myself."

"As I recall, I went of my own volition. And neither you nor I knew for sure that there would be anyone down here."

"But I had a feeling." Bruce growled.

"What's done is done." Alfred replied, waving his hand as if he could wipe the past clean. "If you're so worried about it, why don't you get a sidekick?"

"You know I work alone."

"Yes, yes. Of course." Alfred agreed unconvincingly as he returned to his ascent up to the manor. He knew Bruce would continue to pout over the whole affair, but at least now he knew why he was feeling so upset, though it was impractical to worry about the past. Sure Alfred might be old, but he wasn't completely incapable. But he had certainly been taken off guard. Since that night, Bruce planned on having Lucius Fox over nearly every day to improve the defense systems on and around the manor. Alfred just hoped it didn't take too terribly long to complete, or else someone might notice his absence at Wayne Corp., and it wasn't hard to notice the absence of someone like Bruce Wayne.

Bruce had left the dark confines of the bat cave in favor of the Gotham streets, shoulders hunched slightly in thought, his forehead creasing into the sunglasses on his face. Well, what was done was done, and he could only improve the future, and he did plan on taking his precautions to new levels. Just let it go, Bruce. Live and learn, he coaxed himself.

His stroll was abruptly cut short by a line of yellow tape stretching across the sidewalk, making three sides of a barrier. The fourth side was the broken window of a harassed looking jewelry shop. Beyond the curious onlookers that were straying as close to the scene as they could get, Bruce could see Gordon and Bullock discussing something as other detectives stepped over the glass as they traveled back and forth to pick up finger prints and other clues. One detective was talking to a scared clerk and a confused manager, who was waving a tape around in his hand as he talked.

Bruce took interest, but moved on. He was only the night shift, and it was merely twelve o' clock in the afternoon. However, a robbery would probably be cleared up before then. He just wished he had been there to prevent it.

Despite the fact that there was plenty in his life to distress about, his thoughts kept returning to a rather unwanted subject. Talia remained a rather unfathomable enigma. Mostly, before, he couldn't seem to figure out why he had fallen for her at all. But now it bothered him that he had felt so strongly for her when he barely knew her. And how did he feel now? He'd rather not think about it, but apparently that wasn't his decision to make. It was paramount that he keep her only on the back of his mind. Wherever she was now, whatever she was doing, he could deal with those queries, because he didn't want her to carry out the same plans as her father. But how he felt about her? She would ruin him.

He turned the corner and Arkham came into view, looming like it wished it were the dark mascot of Gotham. Though he was still quite a distance away, he could make out a rather familiar blond female making her way down the steps from the entrance into the parking lot. Before he thought about what he was doing, his pace had quickened, and he was jumping in between the crowds to catch up to her before she reached her car.

She was making her way to her car rather quickly, and Bruce had to break into a jog to intercept her. Too bad he didn't know what he was doing there. She looked up at him as he approached her, and smiled politely, keys dangling from a hand.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne," she greeted, "Business at Arkham, or are you here visiting?"

"Neither." Elizabeth looked up at him quizzically, and Bruce elaborated. "I, uh, was just taking a walk, and I saw you. Just thought I'd say hi."

Furtively, Elizabeth's eyes scanned her surroundings. Did Mr. Wayne always take his mid-noon walks around such a shady community? She shrugged mentally; maybe he thought he was untouchable.

"So, anyways," Bruce continued, "I was just about to stop for a bite to eat. Care to join me?"

Elizabeth had to pause for a moment, she was so taken aback. She heard whispers in the office all the time, crooning about Mr. Wayne and how they hoped to be on the most eligable bachelor's arm next. Though Elizabeth had been attracted to him, (who hadn't, she asked herself) finding herself the flavor of the week was not high on her to do list. Leave it for someone who was just bursting for their fifteen minutes in the spotlight.

But it was just lunch. And she was really, really hungry.

She nodded and smiled, "Sure, I'd love to."


	10. Your Eyes

Disclaimer: I own the Lees, and the waitress is my bitch. That's it.

Chapter Ten: "Your Eyes"

* * *

It was a distance to the first decent restaurant from Arkham, but not so long as to be unbearable. Bruce filled the stroll with pleasant conversation, and neither of them had to worry about an awkward silence. But Elizabeth noticed that Bruce didn't take complete interest in the topics he presented, only as much as was necessary. It was like he was trying to be someone he wasn't, building up a facade to hide behind. She felt slightly resentful that it seemed he was trying to hide who he was to her, but it was only vaguely discernable, as if he believed in who he was, he just didn't care for it. Odd, and almost impossible for the mind to wrap around for comprehension.

They sat down and looked at the menus, and after a moment, Elizabeth put hers down. She watched over the edge of Bruce's menu as he decided, and he lifted his eyes to look at her. Without the sun glaring into her vision, she could see his eyes much better, and was suddenly struck with an odd sense of familiarity. She couldn't put her finger on it, because she figured she had never seen eyes like that before. They were guarded and stony, with a hue of kindness in them, but it was mostly a cold comfort. They were eyes that hid many secrets, they were eyes that lied to many people, and shut them out. Elizabeth had her first encounter with eyes like these many years ago, with Carrie.

Carolina had developed a habit of sneaking out of the house in highschool to go to clubs, and many of the nights came home less than sober, among other things. They lived with their mother, a widow, scared of losing anyone else she held dear, and therefore hesitant to do anything that might lead them to turn away from her, like punishment. Carolina had just been entering highschool when their father died, and fell immediately into the wrong past times. Elizabeth decided to delay her first year of college to stay and slap the shit out of Carolina when she acted stupid, since her mother wasn't up to the task, and though Elizabeth never laid a hand on her, she managed to scare her all the same. She was a sight when she got mad. Carolina was a wonderful liar, and had not surprisingly gotten away with many things before Elizabeth finally learned how to read her eyes. They truly were the window to the soul, sometimes. After that, Elizabeth always knew if Carolina came home with something she shouldn't have, or if she were lying or hiding something, because her eyes always turned an emptier, duller shade of their normal hazel. It was because of Carolina that Elizabeth had decided to major in Psychology when she finally went into school, instead of Business.

But it wasn't their resemblance to Carolina's when she was hiding something that made them so familiar. She had truly seen those eyes before... but where?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the waitress, who held her pen poised over a small notepad, ready to write down their orders.

"Ya'll ready to order?" She asked with a grin that was begging for a good tip. She turned her attention mostly at Elizabeth, and pretended she was ignoring Bruce, though Elizabeth could see the nervous twitch in her eyelids as she tried, sometimes unsuccessfully, not to glance at him. Elizabeth gave her order, smiling and deciding to give her a nice tip for the obvious effort (most women refuse to tip if they think the waitress is flirting with their husbands, and she obviously knew; maybe from personal experience?).

Only a short while after they had received and started on their meals, Bruce's watch beeped irritably at him. With no small amount of regret, he relinquished his fork and pulled a wallet from inside his coat. Elizabeth had stopped eating to watch him, her curiosity piqued.

"I'm terribly sorry to cut our um..." What do you call things like this? Would "meeting" be too businesslike? Date too official? "... lunch short."

"That's fine," she replied. "Duty calls." Why would Bruce Wayne NOT be busy?

He laid three twenties on the table apologetically, "This should take care of it, plus tip."

"Nice tip."

Bruce chuckled and slid out of the booth, "It was really nice seeing you again, Ms. Lee."

"May as well call me Elizabeth."

He smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgment before departing. When he was halfway down the street he pulled his cell phone out, pushing the number he had Alfred on speed dial for. The phone rang twice, and Alfred answered with the most dignified "hello" Bruce thought he would ever hear in his lifetime.

"Alfred, you beeped at me?"

"Ah yes, I was hoping you hadn't forgotten about your meeting with Mr. Fox today. He's making his way up the driveway."

Bruce silently cursed, "I'm on my way up."

"I'll put on a movie." He could hear the receiver click as Alfred hung up the phone. He was never much for small talk, and they had long since transcended the need for goodbyes. Bruce pocketed his cell phone and quickened his pace, wondering why he had felt the need for a refreshing walk around the city that afternoon. He was usually pretty damn good at remembering appointments. Maybe he was getting old. Sure, the tabloids called him Gotham's most eligible bachelor, but the single grey hair he had found that morning foretold that he was soon to be labeled Gotham's most elderly bachelor. Life was cruel.

Lucius and Alfred were waiting for him down in the batcave when he arrived. Lucius had already unloaded the boxes that contained the rest of the equipment for the computer labs and security.

"Sorry to keep you waiting... you know how it is..." Bruce smiled partly out of sheepish apology, and partly with mischief.

"I haven't forgotten how easily you can be... distracted. Buy any hotels this time?"

"No, no." Bruce chuckled as he crouched down to shift through the equipment. "You stopped me from buying this cute little café right on time, though."

"How disappointing."

"I figure I'll just be in the way down here," Alfred called as he wandered back towards the elevator. "Just buzz if you need me."

Bruce watched Alfred retreat from his low position, then grinned up at Lucius. "He's actually quite a couch potato when you're not looking." He glanced down and pulled another box towards him. "And all of these pieces in this one box go to the computers? Seems like a lot."

"Well, I'm sure I put a few extras in there just in case, but other than that..." he let the obvious trail off unspoken.

"Well, let's get started then."

* * *

Harlene had just returned to her office from her lunch break and sat down when the phone rang, as if it had been anxiously anticipating her arrival. She picked up the receiver as she lazily flipped through a magazine.

"This is Harlene Quinzelle."

"Harley! How's my favorite girl in the world?"

"Puddin'!" Harley squealed into the phone at the familiar voice, abandoning her magazine enthusiastically.

"I just thought I'd drop in a line, to check up on you."

"That's so sweet." She smiled, propping herself up on her desk with her elbows with a dreamy expression. "Will I be able to see you tonight?"

"Of course, darling, you know I'm just dying to see you. That project I've been ranting about all week is close to being finished, and I'd like you to see it before I put in the finishing touches, just to tell me what you think about it."

"Ah'm sure whatever it is, if it's from you, it's perfect."

"I'll pick you up tonight at nine."

"Okay, puddin'." Harley drawled, twirling a lock of her hair.

"Oh, Harley! I almost forgot. I'm not sure if you'll be able to help me, totally understandable if you can't, but there's this man who's been harassing me lately, and his daughter happens to be one of your patients."

"Yeah?" Harley stopped messing with her hair and sat up straighter, worry tugging at her gut. Was he in trouble?

"If he gets too violent, I'm going to tell him you're holding his daughter hostage."

"What?" Harley's spine was completely rigid now, no longer from worry, but from fear and shock. He couldn't really expect her to kidnap a child, could he?

"Now, now, you don't really have to hold her hostage, just declare her insane and have her locked up in Arkham for a little while. It won't be forever; shouldn't even be more than a week or two, in fact."

"Mr. J..." Harley skirt was now no longer more than a wrinkled wad of fabric in Harley's fist, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Come on Harley, you don't want me to get hurt, do you? This is the only way, I assure you, or else I would have never asked."

"Of course I don't want you to get hurt, puddin'. Of course I'll do it for you."

"There's a dear. I'll see you at nine tonight. Ta ta."

The other line clicked as he hung up, and Harley returned her own, her hand shaking almost too much for her to place it down straight. It seemed like an easy enough task, just declare the child insane, but Harley had never been so dishonest before. Sure, there was that one time she shoplifted that pair of earrings, but nobody's life was on the line. She wasn't killing anybody, but locking up a child for no reason at all weighed on her conscience just as heavily with guilt. But if Mr. J said it was the only way, then she would do it. Things would turn out all right in the end, she reassured herself.

At nine o' clock, just as he had promised, the Joker waited outside of Harley's condo, leaning on the door of his car, the chauffeur waiting in the driver's seat patiently. He had noticed, before they pulled up, that every few seconds Harley would peek through the blinds to see if he was there yet. She was crazy about him, and soon would be rolling over to do anything he commanded. It was just a matter of time.

Again, Harley parted the blinds, and after seeing him grinned and twitched excitedly. She vanished from the window and shortly bolted out of the front door, hastily pulling a black leather jacket over a red halter top. The black skirt she was wearing was rather short for the icy weather, so black hose accompanied it, trailing down into black knee high boots that had a three inch heel.

She wrapped her arms around Joker when she got close enough, and when she pulled back far enough he gave her a kiss, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of being so passionate with someone who didn't cringe or pull away. Maybe he would keep her, after all.

When the kiss ended she bounced excitedly again, though not releasing her arms that were pretzeled around his neck. "Where're we going, Mistah J?"

"It's a surprise, cupcake, so you can't tell a single soul."

She giggled and let go of him so he could open the door for her. As she pranced into the car she told him over her shoulder, "Your secrets are safe with me!"


	11. Errands, Eavesdropping, and Evictions

I think somehow I lost a chapter. But everything seems to be reading smoothly, so maybe it's just my imagination.

Disclaimer: Once again I own the Lees, and now I own the crappy chess board and random crazy guy #11

Chapter Eleven: "Errands, Eavesdropping, and Evictions"

* * *

SATURDAY OF THE FIRST WEEK. 

Even though it was a weekend, Elizabeth could not find it in herself to sleep in. Maybe it was the horror looming just two weeks away. Maybe it was the hopeless task of getting Jonathan to help her. Maybe it was unwelcome dreams due to repressed thoughts.

Elizabeth stepped out through the front door to grasp a breath of fresh air from the balcony. She leaned her arms on the iron banister, and it was freezing against her skin, but she didn't pull away. Her bare toes curled in on themselves under the thin fabric of her pajama pants as they tackled the cold.

When this had begun, Elizabeth had refused to let herself think about what would happen should she fail, focusing only on the task at hand, and her goal. But it didn't matter how hard she tried not to think about it; she just couldn't keep herself from worrying. She felt it might drag her down, but alas, it was inescapable.

But there were other calamities that flooded her mind as well. Like how, despite the fact that their sessions were hopelessly useless, Elizabeth enjoyed being there with Jonathan. She was beginning to think of him as less of a patient and as more of a person. This terrified her for many reasons: Who he was, what she was going through and needed to accomplish, and what he had done. Why, of all times, did a romantic need have to bubble up now, with him?

For what seemed like a moment she had long been waiting for, Elizabeth sunk down, bracing her shoulder into the metal railing, arms wrapped securely around her knees, and allowed herself to cry.

* * *

Carrie woke up at 9:30 with the impression that she was chewing on bacon. She had been dreaming about it, oddly, and now she had a perfectly real craving for the greasy sticks of meat. She went directly into the kitchen, figuring the smell would wake everyone else up, and what a perfect way to start the day. She opened the freezer and peered into the vastly diminishing supply of food, turning a few things over here and there to look for the bacon strips, but found nothing. Sighing, she stood up straight and closed the door. So much for breakfast. 

Elizabeth entered from the front door, still in her pajamas, and Carrie gave her a quizzical look before pointing out her dilemma.

"We need food."

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to give the quizzical look, "What do you mean? We have plenty of food. And what do you mean "we," you freeloader?"

"There's no bacon," Carrie replied, ignoring her. "There's really not much of anything," she stated as she opened both doors to display what they had left. Elizabeth just stared at the contents, and Carolina couldn't really make out the look on her face, but figured it was nothing pleasant. Slowly, she closed the doors again and stepped back.

Elizabeth looked at Carolina, her lips pressed tight together. It was a look Carolina was rather familiar with, so she knew she was trying hard not to yell.

Very softly Elizabeth said, "You are buying the next load of groceries, of course?"

"I, uh... I really don't have any money. I'm not the only one eating this food, you know, so don't make me buy the whole damn lot."

"Carrie, it was full three days ago!"

"What are you saying? You don't eat?"

"Not that much! Look, the fact is, now that you're here, things have been disappearing twice as fast and I'm not exactly wealthy."

"You wanted me to come here, will you make up your mind?" Carrie sighed and looked away, "Obviously I'm a terrible burden. You want me to pack my stuff?"

"Don't go to the extremes. Just... I don't know, get a job. It would be really helpful."

"Yeah. Whatever." Carolina muttered as she huffed out of the room. Elizabeth watched her go. The girl was twenty four, and still acted like a teenager sometimes. Ate like one too. She sat down at the kitchen table and laid her head in her arms. Maybe she hadn't dealt with that situation as best she could. It didn't have to end like that. It really was unfair to Carrie that she had been so quick to snap at her, for she had no idea what lay just beneath the surface of her newly acquired family life. She pondered telling her about it; after all it was her daughter, so she had a right to know, but Elizabeth couldn't possibly predict how she would react to the news, and she couldn't risk setting something terribly awry even by the simplest and innocent chain of events. When this was over, maybe she could show off her battle scars, but for right now she needed to make sure she won first.

* * *

Evening in the Narrows was like complete nightfall, since there weren't the big business building lights that seemed to rain down on the center of Gotham, and there were many neglected or dismantled streetlights lining the road, a perfect place for deeply dishonorable intentions to hide in. Perhaps Bruce should think about investing in a charity event to make these grimy streets a little cleaner, while Batman cleaned up the alleyways using his own methods. 

It was here that Batman hoped to gain a leg up on his search for the Joker by listening in on conversations as mob members updated each other or just ranted about someone they wouldn't mind getting rid of. It was a hard task, as a lot of them were meticulously selective on who they talked about anywhere at anytime. But there were other's who didn't bother with such indiscretion, either because they were above it, or were just stupid, and he was counting on them.

He was at the restaurant where he had first met the crime lord Valconi, and it seemed darker somehow, even with Valconi in prison. Gordon's term came to him then, escalation, and he had to wonder, who had he been replaced by? It was vastly inevitable, people were always searching for power, and it didn't always matter how it fell into their laps. They didn't know the meaning of repercussions, but by God he would show them.

There were two men sitting next to the window he crouched under, there voices magnified in his mask like it were a megaphone. But nothing useful, another dead end. Was he so feared, then, that the topic of him was carefully avoided, or was there simply nothing behind his name but questionable silence?

He heard another voice then, carrying momentarily over the others with anger from where it resided, further into the bar.

"Who does that clown think he is? Where the hell did he come from, anyways?"

Batman tried to focus the microphone towards the man's voice, but could only pick it out when he yelled. He must have been in the middle of the room. Others were talking to him, consoling him, maybe, but he wouldn't be able to tell for sure.

"I won't tolerate it!" he continued to yell, "This is my city now, and I won't have some freak show traipsing in like he owns the place, acting like he's above me." It hit him like that outraged voice formed a corporeal fist and knocked him right in the face. This was the man who had taken over after Valconi. He edged his face slowly over the window ledge, peering into the smoky room, gazing through the suffocating haze of cigar and cigarette smoke to find body of the voice.

And there he was, a large, commanding man, as easy to pick out of the crowd as a single pearl nested in a pool of crimson petals; not so much because of his size, but because of the way he carried himself, like he demanded others attention and respect. He was definitely one for center stage. His hair was grey, but thick and full, like his bottom lip, which hung in a perpetual pout that somehow did not take away from his apparent power. The hands that pulled angrily on the lapels of his white Armani suit jacket were adorned with gaudy rings wedged on several chubby fingers.

Batman looked at the lips of the men that were placating him, agreeing with him, or whatever they were doing. He watched as they twisted and puckered to form words, and despite the fact that they were talking too softly for his microphone to pick up he could follow the conversation fairly well. Practice will do that for you. And among the silent words were the ones he needed the most. A name: Mr. Thorn.

* * *

The television droned on from its perch high up on the recreation room's wall. Jarvis' distracted gaze twitched back and forth from the screen to his white pawns, scattered meticulously across the checkered board. Jonathan watched patiently, his chin resting against his clasped hands. His friend's shredded attention was not bothering him in the least, he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. Besides, he was winning because of it, not that the task was difficult for himself. 

Jarvis finally reached out to move, his long fingers curling around the bishop's smooth form. His hand shook slightly as it hovered over the board, thoughtfully hesitant. It sank down, contemplative until the final thunk of thick plastic colliding with more plastic. No glass or metal for these occupants, oh no, just the cheap stuff.

Jonathan countered the move swiftly and assertively, his deep voice soft and slightly bored, "Check."

Jarvis cursed and rubbed his forehead, wondering how he had let Jonathan grasp the lead yet again. An abrupt sound from the television stole his attention and he instantly momentarily forgot his impending doom.

Jonathan chuckled softly into his hands, no more audible than a faint whisper. He did wish partially that the television did not demand his companions attention so aptly, because he was starting to miss a real challenge. But maybe, as he wasted his time with feeble attempts, his note was being read, she was turning down that road, knocking on the door, his name being spoken by those soft, pale lips, and his freedom in motion to linger ever closer.

And if she didn't find it? What would happen if she simply dumped the bag with great relief on the floor beside the door, happily forgetting her tasks in favor of a restful weekend?

He was not, however, incapable of trying again.

Jarvis turned at last back to the game, looking delightedly surprised at the set up in front of him. "Who's winning?" He asked, his tone apologetic for his forgetfulness.

Jonathan sighed and figured, to hell with it, "You are."

* * *

SUNDAY OF THE FIRST WEEK. 

Elizabeth sunk down in front of her computer late afternoon on Sunday. Her shoulder bag leaned frumpily on the edge of the desk, the straps hanging haphazardly close to the leg chairs. She laid her head on folded arms, boredom and exhaustion working in lieu to send her consciousness plummeting to sleep. Carrie had taken Katie out earlier that day and hadn't yet returned, which was fine with her. Even when they were there she felt like she was just passing through, or they were perfect strangers sharing an apartment. It was an odd sensation when you felt like you weren't included in your own family.

Then again, maybe she was pushing them away. Maybe her subconscious was afraid of losing them, so was slowly extracting her feelings from them so it wouldn't hurt so much if she really did lose them. Such disturbing thoughts plaguing her mind. If this continued, she would lose them either way, and how did you fight the habits of your own mind without losing a little bit of it? That was something she felt she ought to know, but she was learning more and more, recently, that there were many things she did not know or could not do.

She began playing with the dangling bag strap as she thought, and suddenly a crumpled wad of paper tumbled out of the front pocket when she jerked too hard on it. Elizabeth detached her foot from the strap and leaned down to retrieve it, planning on throwing it int the trash before she realized she couldn't remember crumpling anything up. She certainly didn't want to toss it if it contained anything important.

She smoothed the creases with her palm so the words lay, still slightly illegible but less clumped together in scribbled fury. It was nothing much, to her, a simple address and a note beneath that stating, "He owes me a favor." It was not her handwriting, but it wasn't hard to figure out who's it was. She remembered the cards scattering over her, and over him, and of course, that's why he wanted to carry her bag. One small act of kindness had to have a greater purpose behind it in order for him to perform it or it was just a waste of his time.

And would she follow Jonathan's cryptic advice? Certainly. Such vague propositions were not beneath her, especially when she needed all the help she could get.

Elizabeth bit down on the wrinkled note, leaning forward and searching adamantly for the street she was supposed to turn down. Once spotting it, she rotated the wheel gripped tight under her hands, and found the number on the duplex door she was looking for. She parallel-parked as close as she could, and jogged across the street and down the way.

She stopped in front of the door, wondering what she was going to say. The situation was odd, to say the least. She didn't have much time for thought, however, as the door was yanked open, as if her appearance had been expected.

"Thought I heard someone come up." The man had dirty blond hair, and bags under his eyes almost as dark as his irises.

"Um. Hi, I'm here... on behalf of Jonathan Crane." She still had the note in her hand, and held it out as the only explanation she had.

"Oh. Oh dear," he said after glancing at the writing, and with that, he shut the door in her face.

Elizabeth froze, relatively shocked. Biting her lip, she overcame the odd experience, and knocked on the door again. The man opened the door again, looking at her and impatiently huffing, "Yes?"

"Um..." Elizabeth furrowed her brow. Why was this man acting like she had not knocked previously just a few moments ago? "Hi... remember me?"

"Yes..." Now he was looking at her as if he was not the crazier of the two, but she was.

"Wh... why did you..."

"Look," he muttered, cutting her off, "I'll take care of it, okay?" Not needing a reply, he shut the door again.

"Ok..." Elizabeth answered, still confused. But she couldn't help it, she knocked on the door again.

He opened it immediately, no more but no less agitated than before. "Yes?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but... what exactly do you plan on doing?"

He sighed like a cheeky teenage cashier being asked a question he had already been asked fifty times that same day, five times by the same customer. "You want him out, right?"

"You can do that?"

"Of course not!" he spat. "But I can loosen the chains."

"Anything you can do will be greatly appreciated."

"Ch-yeah." He muttered, moving to close the door again, but stopping short, as if he remembered something he had forgotten. "Do you need anything else?"

"No," she sighed, "I'm sorry to have bothered you." Elizabeth turned and took her leave, walking back to her car, still confused and suddenly overcome with weariness. Monday she would ask Jonathan what all that had been about, and what he was planning. How, with their conversations recorded, she wasn't yet sure, but something was bound to arise.


	12. Scarecrow Knows Your Fear

Mmm. Banana chips. And Elizabeth. That's all I own for this chapter.

Chapter Twelve: "Scarecrow Know's Your Fear"

* * *

MONDAY OF THE SECOND WEEK.

Elizabeth walked into the room, and with only the chairs and a table off to the side to furnish it, it seemed far too large. Jonathan was already sitting, waiting for her, and he watched her avidly as she walked in. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she wanted to ask him something, and her continued silence filled him with certitude that the note had been found.

He waited until she was sitting across from him, and then nodded in the direction of the security camera.

"Think they're on today?"

She gave him a confused look, "Why wouldn't they be?"

Her answer swayed his conviction, but he continued anyways. "Care to test our luck?" He said softly, almost with a dangerous tone.

"What?"

"What is it you fear, Dr. Lee?"

Elizabeth sighed, rolling her eyes, which made her miss the malicious smirk that was creeping across Jonathan's face. "Why are you asking me this again? The answer is going to be the same."

"Maybe because I think your lying." He responded in a stage whisper. Elizabeth looked back at him just in time to see him lunge out of his chair with a speed she wasn't aware was possible, and before she could even take a breath, his hands were grasping each arm of the chair so hard his knuckles showed white through his skin. Suddenly she noticed she wasn't at the right angle in her chair, and realized with a start that he had shoved the chair backwards so that it swayed on its back legs, leaving her feet dangling, as if they were desperately searching for something sturdy to stand on.

He was bracing her weight on the chair, but he was by no means a weightlifter, and he didn't know how long he would be able to bear the weight. Still, he leaned forward into her until he could feel her breath on his face, warm and shallow and skipping with fear.

Jonathan stared into her eyes, but she couldn't hold his gaze, so she looked away. Those clear, icy blue eyes seemed to strip away every facade, every barrier she had built around her mind. They scaled it with fearful ease, as if it were no more than a pebble on a smooth path. But Jonathan didn't like her looking away. He took her chin and turned her face so she was staring at him again, and this time she couldn't break his gaze if she tried; she was drowning.

"What is it you fear?" He repeated, softly this time, as if the question was something intimate. Elizabeth refrained from answering, and it seemed as if she couldn't, the words lodged in her throat. He still had one hand on her cheek, and knew if he didn't stop this soon the chair would collapse beneath her, because he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. He drew back a little, "Don't answer, Lizzy, I already know." He chuckled, and slammed the front end of the chair down, so the legs met the floor with a jolt.

There were no security guards bursting through the doors-- the cameras really didn't work. Elizabeth didn't know how Jonathan could have been so sure, but she didn't hesitate to scurry out of the chair and head for the door, but Jonathan, with his long legs, overtook her. She was nearly there when his arm wrapped around her waist, halting her retreat. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but he seemed to predict her moves, and covered her mouth with his hand.

"Sh!" he commanded harshly in her ear. He waited a moment or two until her breathing slowed slightly, and then continued murmuring into her hair, which had fallen partly from the knot she had it tied in. "I realize this is a slightly absurd and cliched question, but when I let go of you, will you promise not to scream? Nothing is going to happen," he assured her.

Elizabeth didn't trust him, she was shocked and taken aback by his sudden show of violence, but she nodded anyways. After all, she didn't want to just stand there like that for the rest of the day. She felt him draw back, and finally, with small hesitation, removed his hand from her mouth.

Jonathan stepped back and returned to his chair, sitting down and looking over at Elizabeth, who still stood with her back turned. She was debating on what she wanted to do next, because she couldn't just sit back down and pretend like nothing happened.

"Don't go out that door." He warned.

"What makes you think I'll just do as you ask?" She asked spitefully, her nose crinkling.

"Because you need me, and that's quite an effective device for control," he chuckled. He watched her stand there, could almost see her mind churning as she considered doing it out of spite, and wondering what the repercussions were. After a moment she went still, and a breath later he could detect a small tremor that ran through her.

"What the hell was all that about, anyways?" she whispered as she asked, as if she were afraid of the answer, he could hear a small amount of emotion in her voice, the way you could tell a person had been crying, even though you were talking to them over the phone. She wasn't necessarily scared to the point of tears, but she was certainly shaken.

"I figured you found my note."

Elizabeth whirled around, finally understanding. "And that was the only way you could discern whether or not the cameras were off?" she demanded.

"It was the first thing that came to mind." He replied calmly, shrugging.

"Do you realize how much you were risking? For the both of us?" She was stomping closer to him, fear forgotten with the emerging anger.

Jonathan simply stared up at her, elbow draped carelessly over the back of the chair, and he could tell she hated it, hated that he could risk so much and stay so calm. "You don't give me enough credit, doctor."

"Why should I?" she asked calmly, finally composing herself. He felt like laughing; Oh, how little she knew.

"You have no idea how much I'm doing for you."

Now she gave him a look of surprise and great confusion, "You're right, I don't. What the hell is going on?"

He crossed one leg over the other, his right ankle resting on his left knee, like he was right at home in the sterile white room. "You know you're never quite fully aware of the amount of geniuses you have right under your nose until you become one of them."

Elizabeth was just lost now, "...Beg pardon?"

"I appreciate the effort to get me out of here, but you're going to have to admit to yourself that your endeavors are going nowhere."

Elizabeth had already known that part, but stayed silent while he talked, because to interrupt would probably break his train of thought, and she was already confused enough as it were.

"But I have more valuable contacts inside and outside this place than I ever did before. You think I've just been sitting around all this time?"

"Considering our agreement, I really hoped you haven't. But gee, I don't know what to say, I never knew the walls of those cells were that thin."

Jonathan laughed. "Look, what I'm trying to say is, I don't need your help anymore." He watched her face fall, saw the horror creep into those eyes, and admired it for awhile before he continued.

"But I will still help you. Only now, you need to do as I say."

* * *

It was nearly complete, but it's continuation of being under construction didn't stop the Joker from being there to loiter in his free time. In fact, even though it wasn't publicly open, many people still came to poke or mess around. And he had no problem with that, just as long as they brought their own booze and didn't drink any of his.

He was sprawled across a throne-like chair, one hand draped down towards the floor to lazily stroke the fur of Tweedle-Dum, one of his two pet hyenas. Tweedle-Dum yawned lazily and lifted his paw to scratch his neck, making the spiked collar rattle against its chain. Harley sat primly in a slightly smaller chair on the Joker's right, legs crossed and concentration on her nails; she had removed her black gloves to determinedly file her nails, while humming a pleasant tune.

Finally the thick metal french doors opened, just as he knew they would, and two buff men in identical black sleeveless shirts and black pants strode in. Each of them had a set of complex looking goggles around their necks. Anybody else in the room who had not known what was going on would probably have found themselves seeking a CAT scan the next morning, because the two bouncers looked like they were pantomiming carrying something rather large and heavy between them. Something that, strangely, could really talk. Of course it wasn't so much talking as whining and begging, but strange is strange.

Joker leaned forward with great exuberance, "Mojo! I had no idea you would come!" he lied, "What a surprise, what a surprise!" He laughed, and Harley joined in, even though hers was more of a nervous laughter, as she couldn't quell her heartbeat long enough to pay attention. The two bouncers let go of their load, and after a few moments a head with short dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a few freckles strewn across its nose unfurled itself from the shadowed, but empty, spot.

"Joker, please," the head begged, "Leave Kim out of this. She doesn't deserve this. She hasn't done anything!"

"Oh come now, Mo, what a stupid thing to say!" Joker snickered, "All you have to do is kidnap my girl and you get the girl that I kidnaped back. Now doesn't that sound logical?"

"Why are you asking me to do this?"

Joker rubbed his chin in theatrical pensiveness. "Well, I could simply strip the invisibility cloak off of your dead body, or just steal it, but," he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "it's just so much more fun to use you instead!"

Despite the fact that the rest of Mojo's body was invisible, Harley could almost see him shaking, and couldn't help but turn away. She couldn't think about how horrible she felt, so she didn't. Everything was so much easier to deal with when you tuned it out and chose numbness instead.

"And the Batman?" Mojo whimpered. "He'll see right through me."

"Don't be ridiculous old boy," Joker demanded, waving his hand. "The batman is nothing more than a man that wishes he were me," he chuckled at his own statement and then continued, "I put a lot of effort into making sure the man who sold me those heat vision goggles wouldn't sell them to anyone else. In fact, I don't think he'll ever sell anything ever again!" Joker began to laugh, and it made even Harley shiver. She hadn't known about the man with the goggles. Tonight, she was finding out that she didn't know about a lot of things. And now she was in too deep for it to matter.

"So what do you say?" Joker asked Mojo.

"I say I really don't have a choice," he decided.

"Good boy. I would have really hated to have been forced to feed you to my puppies," Joker murmured as he reached down to pet the panting hyenas. "Get out of here. I don't know how much time we have left."

In sync the bouncers bent and scooped the invisible body of the floor, dragging him back from whence they came. Once left alone, Harley turned to look at the man she had somehow fallen in love with, but couldn't seem to find any words to say, so she returned to staring at the wall. Strange thing was, she wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of leaving him, and she was afraid of the fact that the only time she felt out of place was in that monotonous office. But she wasn't afraid of him. Maybe she should have been.

* * *

The heels of Talia's boots thunked on the rock floor as she walked, sounding louder than it should have been because it echoed throughout the cave. Beams of weak yellow light from several flashlights held by people in front of and behind her arced back and forth across the walls, making her feel like she was walking through a light show. The walls and floor were unnaturally smooth, proving that the site had been tampered with years before Talia and her League of Assassins had arrived. Years before her father had been using it, even. The last time Ra's had been here his house had burned down, killing most of the members of the League of Shadows, and weakening him considerably. It would have taken months for him to heal, if it hadn't been for the Pit, and because of it, it had taken a mere week.

Now they were here again, but Talia didn't hold much faith that the Lazarus Pit would help her father this time around. They had never attempted to use it for death. Near death, yes, but that was still entirely different. But that did mean that at least there would be no fatalities for trying.

The Lazarus Pit entered the circumference of the pale circle of light, and the League of Assassins, renamed by Talia after her father's death, spread out around the Pit, which was about the size of a large pond. Two men passed by Talia, carrying her fathers still form between them, which was covered with a dark blanket. They set him down at the rim of the thick, bubbling liquid, which looked slightly blue in the flashlights glow, and began to peel away the material from his skin. She watched as her father's grey, still skin was slowly revealed, strip by strip, and throughout it all she remained calm and cold, like they were unwrapping nothing more than a note from an envelope. She loved her father very much, but the time for mourning had long since passed, and truthfully, the only reason it might take effort to look at his face was because of her odd romantic interest in their common enemy.

This was actually the first time she even thought about that certain state of affairs since she left. What did it mean that it didn't mean anything at all anymore? The air in the murky cave seemed far more clear than on those city streets, and maybe her father was right; maybe Gotham's time had come. He could always tell, like he could smell Death hovering over the population like a stifling hand, and there, she could certainly smell something odd.

"Lower him in," she murmured when the last of the sheet was pulled away. The two men that had been unraveling him dipped him into the goo, feet first, until he was completely submerged. They let him go, and he disappeared into the depths, invisible to their eyes in such a dark atmosphere. Silently they waited, and each moment stretched on intolerably, but nothing happened. Finally Talia sighed, and walked away from her men. The time for mourning was here again.

* * *

Between the three of them, the machines in the bat cave went up rather quickly. Bruce even had his own miniature laboratory, and a computer that was so large and complex he could probably enter it into the Guinness Book of World Records. He sat down in the thickly cushioned chair that he had recently purchased "for his office", and rolled himself over to the lab. He pulled the small blue flower out of his jacket, now tinged with brown and withered from age and lack of water or sunlight, and placed it under a microscope. When he had encountered the field in the mountains he had taken several, for they were plentiful, yet undocumented, which was a little too suspicious for him to let go. It wasn't long before he found himself thankful for his instinct, after finding out what they did.

Truthfully, he didn't honestly know what he was doing, sitting there with a flower under a microscope. He knew what the blossom did, and he knew how to make it do it, but he didn't know if it could do the reverse, or where to start to find out if it could. But one thing he didn't want was Elizabeth's dependence on Dr. Crane. He was a criminal and couldn't be trusted, and he knew how manipulative the psychiatrist was. Perhaps instead of sitting here trying to beat Crane to a cure he ought to be out there making sure he didn't wheedle himself out of Arkham. But he wasn't giving Elizabeth enough credit; he couldn't assume that she was that gullible or trusting, but it didn't harm anything to be prepared for the worst.

It was a little funny in retrospect how close he was getting personally to her, and to Lucius, when he had forbade himself to do so. Apparently, then, it was absolutely impossible to refuse outright any relationship. Shit happened, no matter how hard you tried to prevent them. Then again, you can't prevent what you can't predict.


End file.
